


The Kids Aren't Alright

by CastielLordOfTheBees



Series: The Garrison Chronicles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Children, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexuality, Broken Families, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dean in Denial, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Financial Issues, Forbidden Relationships, Foster Care, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Castiel, Pining Dean, Punk Castiel, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Shit's gonna start getting real after this, Small Towns, Somewhat Inspired by The Fosters, Underage Drinking, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielLordOfTheBees/pseuds/CastielLordOfTheBees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas Novak and Dean Winchester were two very different people, and, as cliche as it's going to sound, from two very different worlds:<br/>Where one lives in a run-down trailer park on the edge of town with his five other siblings and his heroin addict mother, the other lives your average suburban life, mom and dad and baby brother Sammy all in a nice house with a picket fence-- or well, he did before his father up and left them for his pregnant mistress.<br/>When the two of them are brought together to work on a history project on an American social movement of their choice, Cas and Dean may just find that they aren't so different after all.<br/>(Mainly focusing on Castiel/Dean, but will have a decent amount of Gabriel/Sam and Charlie/Dorothy)</p><p>A lot of inspiration for this comes from both The Fosters and Shameless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Then We're All Just Fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a fic I've been in the process of writing for a few weeks now, and I decided to post one chapter just to see if it was something people would be interested in seeing continued. I realize that the summary of this story totally sucks, but honestly when you have a story like this (which is going to be kind of a clusterfuck), which is mainly going to focus on the three couples I mentioned in that aforementioned summary, it's kind of hard to sum it all up. I'll hopefully get around to editing that when I've decided on whether or not to continue this.

_"If home is where the heart is then we're all just fucked_  
_I can't remember_  
_I can't remember_  
_And I want it so bad_

 _I'd shoot the sunshine into my veins_  
_I can't remember_  
_The good old days"_

**\- Fall Out Boy, 27**

 

Castiel woke to the feeling of being shaken, blinking one eye open to take in the blurry sight before him. Michael, his older brother, was kneeling down next to him, looking every bit like the overworked man he was. Despite the soft smile he gave his younger brother as a thank you for actually waking up, like he knew his younger siblings Alfie-- really his name was Samandriel, but they all just went by his middle name, Alfred-- and Hael would not, Castiel paid much more attention to the dark bags under his siblings eyes, which were now a dull blue due to his exhaustion.

“Think you can wake the other one?” Michael asked, nodding toward a bed over in the corner, the only single bed in the room, where there was a small lump under an old Scooby Doo comforter. Alfie. The brat who never wanted to get out of bed in the morning.

Cas really didn’t want to – in fact, he’d much rather take on Hael, who whined and groaned but was nowhere near as fitful as the youngest Novak sibling-- but he knew that he’d be doing his brother a huge favor. He’d been awake last night to hear Michael and his mother out in the living room, his mother shouting about being police brutality as she was escorted into the trailer by the town sheriff, Jody Mills, who was an old family friend, and Michael. She was clearly intoxicated in some way if her slurred speach said anything. No wonder his brother looked ready to drop.

He sighed, but nodded, knowing in his gut that it was the least he could do. The look Michael gave him was sympathetic, though it seemed he was in a rush because he simply patted his younger brother on the shoulder and disappeared through the doorway again.

Castiel glanced over at the lump again and let out a soft groan, forcing himself to stand and make his way over to the younger boy’s bed. The lump was unmoving at the moment, but he knew that the second that he made a move to wake him, there would be nothing but flying limbs.

“Alfie?” Castiel said hesitantly, leaning over the bed a bit. “Come on, buddy, you’ve gotta get up.”

Nothing.

Castiel looked up at the ceiling as if asking God for help, only he was an atheist, so it was more simply begging the universe to please oh please make the kid wake up with a minimal amount of violence.

“Alfie,” he said in a slightly louder voice. “Don’t you wanna play with your friends on the playground before school?”

Again, nothing.

Cas was on the verge of going to get Michael, but at the memory of his brother’s tired face he pushed away the thought. “Alfie, I swear if you don’t get up in the next ten seconds I’ll-”

Just then, the closet door to his left opened, revealing a short, blond boy with the same bright blue eyes as his own, only they were quickly overflowing with tears. “Cassie?”

“Alfie, why are you in a closet?” he asked in an inquiring voice.

“I was going to surprise Michael, but--” And with that Alfie cut himself off, the sobs finally forcing themselves out. Cas couldn’t think of a time he’d felt like even worse of an asshole than right then. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked out, looking down.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, anything to get the younger boy to calm down, but never got the chance. In the doorway appeared his older sister Rachel, who, upon assessing the situation, immediately approached the youngest Novak and wrapped him in her arms, along with a sleepy-looking Hael, and an amused Gabriel, who was chomping on his usual PopTart.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he heard Rachel whisper to the younger boy, and when she met Cas’ eyes over his shoulder it was with a questioning look, to which he shrugged, unsure what else to say to her without actually, you know, saying it. And the last thing he needed was Alfie getting even more upset by him talking about it. “Hael, Castiel, Gabriel-- get ready and then have Michael take you to school and work, I’ll take Samandriel on my way to work, okay?”

Once he was dressed in his usual attire-- a t-shirt, his favorite pair of jeans that fit just right, his boots, all topped off with his leather jacket- he made his way to the trailer’s one tiny bathroom. The walls were done up with ugly, pealing floral wallpaper and the floor was cold linoleum, but it did the job. He looked in the mirror at his reflection, which showed a boy with messy dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a handful of piercings, including his lip and his eyebrow. Basically your average run of the mill, good for nothing punk. The only thing missing from his ensemble was the lines of black eyeliner he usually drew beneath his waterline. With one last look in the mirror, making sure that he looked at the very least not like death warmed over, he headed back to meet with his siblings, who were both patiently waiting in the boy’s room.

On the way through the living room, the three of them were treated to the sight of their mother sprawled out on the couch looking like absolute crap. Her hair was a tangle of dirty blonde curls, her face was flushed and sweaty, and you could see fresh track marks on her arms, so it wasn’t exactly a question of what she’d been up to the night before.

“Is mommy dying?” Hael asked in a small voice, watching her mother with a fearful look that made Cas’ heart twist. She and Alfie were really the only two that could stand her anymore, but they’d also never really been forced to deal with her when she was at her worst, not when they had five older siblings to shield them from it.

Cas met Gabriel’s eyes for a moment, seeing the mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. He turned back to Hael, who was staring up at him with her big blue eyes as if pleading him to tell her everything would be okay, and he felt himself give in to it. He couldn’t be the one to tell his eleven-year-old sister that their mother was slowly killing herself.

“She’ll be better when you get home later, okay sweetie?” Cas assured her, though he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to make that happen. For all he knew, they could come home to her shooting up right there in the living room, it wouldn’t be the first time. But still, he’d rather not have her spend all day worrying about a woman who was willingly destroying herself.

He just hoped he hadn’t gotten her hopes up too high.

 

* * *

 

Before his mother had even opened her mouth, Dean had known it wouldn’t be for anything good, not if the pained look on her face was anything to go by, though he was a bit surprised by exactly how bad the news was.

“Pregnant,” Dean said slowly, the shock slowly wearing off and being replaced with anger. “She’s fucking pregnant?”

“They _are_ getting married, Dean,” Mary said with a sigh, sitting down across from her son and looking down at her hands, which were now bare of her rings. "It's kind of within their rights."

“How far along is she?” Dean asked, trying to calm himself for his mother’s sake. The last thing she probably needed right now was to feel like she had to take care of him when she needed to focus on herself.

“Dean--”

“ _Mom_ ,” he said, giving her a look that clearly read, without even having to say a word,  _tell-me-now-or-I’ll-find-out-on-my-own_.

“Three months,” she said quietly. It had only been a month since John had left, so that would have to mean...

“Oh.”

What exactly could he say to that? Sorry dad fucked her again behind your back? Sorry that he managed to have another family behind _all_ of their backs for apparently the past seven years? Or heck, maybe he’d just go right on ahead and point out how badly this all sucked for her, being stuck alone with two teenage boys-- the youngest of which had a temper like nobody else he’d ever met, and then him, the kid who was always making everything about himself, whether he meant to or not-- and how badly the whole situation sucked. Yeah, because that would help _so_ much.

Then something else came to mind, something that he should have considered immediately, “Does Sammy know yet?”

His mother shook her head, flashing him a weak smile. “I wasn’t sure how to tell him, especially considering…”

“Considering how much he already hates the bastard?” he finished for her, raising his eyebrow as if he were asking a question, though they both knew the answer well.

She sighed again. God, what was with all the sighing? Was it an essential part of the whole tragedy thing or something?

“Dean, he’s still your father.”

“Oh no,” Dean said with a wry smile, standing up from where he’d been sitting on the couch. “He stopped being that the second he chose them over us.”

“Dean--”

“Want me to go talk to Sammy?” he asked, trying to change the subject quickly. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his feelings toward his father. He did, however, find when looking his mother over, that she looked like she really should lie down. “You look exhausted.”

“Perks of working the night shift, I guess,” she smiled. “Just… go to school, both of you, I’ll explain it to him later.”

He started to move toward the door, but paused, walking back to his mother, who had yet to move from where she sat on the table. “So, why tell me now then?”

“Because you’ve always been the more level-headed one around here,” his mother said earnestly.

“Mom,” Dean said with a laugh, “I once stole some asshole kid’s bike after he trashed Sammy’s when he was nine. I’m the furthest thing from level-headed.”

She shrugged, smiling. “You were protecting your little-now-not-so-little brother. I can’t entirely fault you for that. Now, go on and get Sam and go before you’re late again.”

“Yes, mama,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before heading for the bottom of the stairs, where he shouted, “Come on, bitch, before all your dorky friends start wondering where you are.”

“Shut up, jerk!” called back the younger boy, who bypassed his older brother, charging out the front door with a farewell to his mother thrown over his shoulder, Dean close behind.

On the end table closest to Mary sat a family photo: her, John, and the boys, who couldn’t have been more than about nine and seven at the time, all huddled together on the hood of the Impala, the very one she could hear roaring to life in the driveway, having been given to Dean as a congratulatory gift after earning his license. She looked at it with her heart in her throat, studying the smiling faces and trying to see some kind of tell, something that would show her it was all meant to go wrong, even then, but all she could see was the naive look of love in her eyes. She reached over, and with one last pained look, flipped it facedown.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Joshua Finch was, without a doubt, Cas’ favorite teacher at Garrison High School. He taught history, only he taught it in such a way that one couldn’t help but find themselves drawn in. The man had to be about seventy, yet he still absolutely refused to retire, claiming that it didn’t take an ability to move quickly or lift things to teach young minds the ways of the world.

He was a baby boomer, born the very year the second world war ended, apparently the product of too much time apart for his parents, and damn, had he lived through a lot-- the Korean War, the Civil Rights Movement-- he had watched the March on Washington live from his very own living room with his mother, who had cried upon hearing MLK’s speech, and his baby sister Angela, who had been too young at the time to understand what was going on--, Vietnam, and many other historical events, and he remembered them all like they had happened yesterday.

Even Castiel, world class slacker, who found himself falling asleep in most of his other classes, couldn’t help but be captivated by Mr. Joshua’s story telling. It was the one class he held a solid A average in, the others either C’s or D’s, but not F’s. At least he could say he had never gotten an F.

“What is interesting about the March on Washington- well, there’s plenty interesting, but I’m sure none of you want to hear about all that--.” Mr. Joshua, always the humble one, never presumed to know how much his students enjoyed his lessons, and hell, sometimes even Cas doubted it, especially when he looked around at the tired faces of his fellow seniors. Though other times he found himself and his classmates completely rapt by what the older man was saying. “What’s interesting is that it falls on many different anniversaries. Year wise, it fell on the centennial of the Emancipation Proclamation, the legislation that effectively outlawed slavery and freed all those who were enslaved. Also, on that very date in 1955, eight years prior, Emmett Till, a young black boy was beaten to death for supposedly showing interest in a young white woman, and his brutal death had drawn the attention of the nation to the issue of white supremacy in America.”

A boy with cropped brown hair, sitting just two seats ahead of him, raised his hand immediately. Cas narrowed his eyes, wondering what, other than asking to use the restroom, he could possibly have to say right at that moment. Mr. Joshua, never one to play favorites or to ignore anyone, paused in his lecture and nodded at the boy, granting him permission to speak.

“Isn’t it kind of biased of you to be talking about white supremacy and black issues?” he asked, a careless tone to his voice that only served to piss Cas off, though the words out of the boy’s stupid mouth had already done a pretty decent job of that.

The class, much like himself, had burst into chaos, some yelling at the boy that he had no right to say such a thing, that it was not only rude but also pretty fucking racist, while others, though they were few and Cas suspected they were his friends anyway, defended him, saying that it was his right as a student to ask questions. Mr. Joshua, for his part, remained silent, watching the class with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Students,” he said calmly, as he was not one to shout, finally breaking up the fight that was becoming louder by the moment. The others began to quiet upon hearing their teachers voice, jolted out of it even more so than if he had actually yelled. “Thank you. Now, to answer your question, Mr. Trenton. Whether I were talking about black issues, women’s issues, or queer issues, as I have heard them be called by some of the younger people today, though please do correct me if I am wrong, or any other type of issue that affects an oppressed people, I will do so in as unbiased a way as possible. Generally, the truth supports the side of the oppressed, which in this case was the black community, also which I happen to be a member of. I am very sorry if you disagree with my way of teaching, and you are welcome to take that up with the guidance department on your own time, but I do not tell lies.”

Cas had to force himself not to laugh at that, though a small smile managed to peak through anyway. Mr. Joshua met his eye and winked as if there was some joke there that only the two of them understood. The boy had just been shut down so completely that there was really nothing else to be said and had sunken down a bit in his seat, his face scarlet with both frustration and humiliation.

“Now, if there are no more questions, may we continue with our lesson?” he asked, and when no one answered either way, still in a bit of shock by their teacher’s speech, he smiled and continued on as if he hadn’t just completely mortified some snobby teenager. “Now where was I? Ah, yes, Emmett Till-”

After class, Cas stayed behind, taking his time packing up his gear to ensure that he would be the final student to leave. It wasn’t a particularly hard job, considering they had History just before lunch, and most people wanted to hurry and get their pizza and fries or whatever it was that they ate. When they had all gone, Cas heaved his worn backpack up onto his shoulder and walked to the front of the room, where Mr. Finch stood, copying notes onto the whiteboard.

“Mr. Finch?” Cas said, hesitantly.

The older man looked over his shoulder and a small smile spread across his wrinkled face. “Ah, Mr. Novak. What can I do for you?”

Cas fidgeted where he stood, but forced himself to meet his teacher’s eyes. “I just wanted to apologize. I mean, I know I didn’t say all that stuff that Cole said, but I’m sorry you had to hear it.” He flashed him a weak smile. “He’s an idiot, by the way.”

Mr. Finch laughed at that, placing down the dry erase marker he’d just been using and placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Thank you, Castiel, but it isn’t very nice to call people idiots.”

Cas’ eyebrows pulled together a bit, something that tended to occur when he was confused by something, and this was definitely one of those moments. “But you heard what he said, Mr. Finch. He insulted you.”

A thoughtful look passed across the older man’s face and moved toward his desk, pulling out his rolling chair and taking a seat. He motioned toward the desk in front of his, inviting Cas to sit, and he did.

“Castiel, there’s something I want to explain to you,” he said, “A life lesson if you will.”

“Okay,” Cas said simply, waiting.

Mr. Finch folded his hands on his desk, leaning forward to look into his student’s eyes, warm honey brown meeting bright blue. “Castiel, when people insult us, while it may be hurtful, it is not necessarily because of any fault in our character. Sometimes it is because of a fault in _theirs_.”

Cas was puzzled by this. “So, you mean to say there’s a fault in Cole’s character?” he asked.

“Cole Trenton is a sort of special case, different from my other students,” Mr. Finch answered.

“How so?” Cas asked.

“Cole’s father… he was not a very good man. He was in a gang. That man killed a lot of people, caused a lot of damage, and yet every night he would come home to a doting wife and a child that thought the world of him.” Mr. Finch paused, looking down at his hands. “But one night, a man from a rivaling gang followed Roger home.”

Castiel was silent, feeling as if he knew what might be coming, yet not wanting to say it. Even if he didn’t like Cole, it didn’t make what he went through okay.

“That man killed his father while Cole, who was only about eight at the time, stood right on the steps, watching.”

Cas could imagine it perfectly, a young Cole huddled up on the stairs, watching as violence unfolded before his innocent eyes. He had probably wanted to scream, to call for someone, anyone to help him, but was likely too scared to do anything more than watch, horrified. Living through something like that had to have some sort of effect on a person.

“Oh,” Cas said, not sure what to say.

Mr. Finch nodded, “And it certainly didn’t help when his mother died last year. Breast cancer, I believe.”

“Poor Cole,” Cas said softly.

“Now, while that may not be an excuse for his behavior, it is the reason for it,” Mr. Finch explained. “Cole is a boy who is very much shaped by the things he had to endure in his life, and while, in time, he will have to work through his problems, I don’t think a detention will do him any favors.”

When he left Mr. Finch’s classroom a little while later, it was with a new appreciation for his History teacher. Not only was the older man intelligent, he was also wise, which, to Cas, was much more impressive. He could only hope that, when he was Mr. Finch’s age, he was at least half as wise.

 

* * *

 

“So, what happened in your history class today? Something with Mr. Finch?” Sammy asked, sliding into the seat next to him at their usual lunch table. They were still waiting on the rest of the crew, who would be showing up any minute from their lockers, which it apparently took them ten minutes to visit before lunch each day, but apparently the question couldn’t even wait for an audience.

“How the hell did you--” But of course, it occurred to him that this very situation had involved Cole Trenton, star quarterback and the biggest crybaby he’d ever met. Really, thinking it over, it was no surprise that the whole school already knew about it. He probably hadn’t even needed the rest of the class to spread it for him. “Cole Trenton started talking back to Joshua, who proceeded to own him so hard it was nearly painful to watch.”

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing a fry off his brother’s tray. Dean was about to complain, but looking at Sam’s tray of rabbit food-- a salad with only one small container of raspberry vinaigrette dressing, an apple, and a bottle of water, he realized that it was his duty to society to get some junk food into this kid, even if it meant letting him steal from his tray.

“Oh yeah,” Sam said with a mocking smirk, “You look so pained.”

“Shut it, Sasquatch.”

“Make me, jerk.”

Dean smirked right back at his younger brother, “Is that really the best insult you have for me? That’s cute, Sammy.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw them approach-– Charlie, Bela, Ash, Jo, and Benny. As they reached the table, Benny began saying, “So, brother, what’s this I hear about--”

“Cole Trenton got shut down cold by Joshua, end of story.”

Sam made a face, “How do you get away with calling him by his first name?”

“And what exactly did he get shut down for?” Jo asked, her mouth already full of fries, which Bela scrunched her nose up in disgust at. “Oh, be quiet, Miss Priss.”

Bela huffed and went back to her own food, muttering something to herself about how the hell did she end up with these slovenly people as her friends.

“One, by being awesome,” Dean said, which Sam shot him one of his famous bitchfaces for. “Two, because he decided to be a racist bastard, and three, Jo you are disgusting, but it’s cool because it pisses off Bela.”

“Racist how?” Benny asked curiously.

“Um, like racist meaning that he said some really rude shit about how Joshua was biased in talking about the Civil Rights movement because he’s black,” Dean said. The others at the table looked surprised, which he guessed it was, even coming from a douchebag like Cole.

“Um, wow, that’s uh…” Benny said, scratching the back of his head, clearly unsure what to say.

“What a dickbag,” Charlie said, looking pissed on Joshua’s behalf. He happened to be one of her favorite teachers as well. “He ought to have gotten detention for that.”

“You know Joshua,” Dean said. Joshua wasn’t one for handing out punishments, preferring to work out issues with words rather than simply punishing one of his students for their wrongdoings. He’d much rather help them than hurt them.

Suddenly, accidently, of course, he found himself looking at a table just across the room from his, the one where all of the punk kids sat, one of which being a familiar face-- well, sort of. He and Castiel had never spoken two words to each other, yet Dean, along with apparently the rest of the town, knew a lot about him. His mother was the town junkie, one of his older brothers, Gabriel had been responsible for Garrison High School’s greatest senior prank ever, which had involved his entire grade skipping class to perform the song “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease out on the school’s football field, with correct dance moves and everything, and his other brother, Michael, worked for Dean’s Uncle Bobby at his garage. He sort of knew Michael from having covered a few weekend shifts at the garage, but Castiel on the other hand, with his piercing blue eyes and his cocky grin, was a complete mystery.

Just as Dean was about to look away, the other boy seemed to have sensed eyes on him, because he looked up and met his eyes directly. Dean froze, ashamed by having been caught by the very boy he had been staring at, but Castiel didn’t seem angry, simply curious. He tilted his head in a way that Dean would deny with his dying breath was adorable, staring right back at him.

A shiver ran up Dean’s spine, probably from their intense staring contest, and he was finally able to look away, breaking the spell. He blinked, and when he looked back, Castiel was gone. Weird.

 

* * *

 

“Guys? We’re home!” Castiel called from the doorway, where he was holding open the door for Hael to go in ahead of him. No answer came, and honestly, he hadn’t really expected one, having grown used to the house being empty around this time of day. Everyone, except for Amelia, was either at work or some sort of activity – in Anna’s case, since it was Tuesday, debate club.

The sound of skin hitting skin filled the air, followed by a loud scream, coming from the direction of the living room, and Cas hurried through the kitchen toward the source of the noise, his heart racing wildly in his chest from fear. When he arrived, it was to find his mother glaring at her youngest daughter with a look of fury, used needle in her hand and fresh marks on her arm, and also Hael, who had a red splotch on her cheek where Cas assumed his mother had hit her. Clearly she was high off her ass.

Cas moved to stand next to his sister, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder and squeezing gently.“Hael, go to your room, okay sweetie? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hael, too afraid to argue, dashed off down the hallway toward the room she shared with Anna and Rachel, slamming the door shut behind her. Amelia’s face contorted in disgust, and she scowled down the hallway toward the girls’ room.

“Ungrateful little-” Amelia was cut off by her son stepping right up in her space, staring right at her, his eyes cold and with a challenge in them.

“Finish that sentence and you won’t have anywhere to sleep tonight, capiche?” he asked harshly, grabbing hold of his mother’s arm. “And clearly you need us.”

Amelia tore her arm away from her son with a scoff, “I don’t need anybody,” she said with a huff of  laughter. “I didn’t need your father, I didn’t need that stupid police officer last night, and I sure as fuck don’t need _you_. You look just like him, you know, hell, you’ll probably turn out just like him too.”

Cas gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to punch her right square in the face. That would just upset everyone more, especially Hael, and, when he got home, Alfie. Instead, he pushed his mother back onto the couch, which she fell back onto easily, given that her balance was now thrown off from the drugs, and with one final glare at her, he turned and headed for the room at the end of the hallway to check on his baby sister.

 


	2. Detox Just to Retox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas,” she said softly, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. “You can’t keep letting her do this to you. You earned that money.”  
> “What am I supposed to do, exactly?” he asked, shrugging her hand off and pushing back his hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette. In a voice that was very obviously meant to be mocking, he continued, “‘Mom, you gotta stop stealing my shit to pay for your dope or whatever other drugs you happen to be hitting at the moment.’ Yeah, that’d go over super well.”  
> “Well you can’t just do nothing about it either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day!

“ _So boycott love_

_Detox just to retox_

_And I'd promise you anything for another shot at life_

_And perfect boys with their perfect lives_

_Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy_

_(Wants to hear you sing about tragedy)”_

**\- Fall Out Boy, Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes**

 

 

After having calmed down Hael-- who had been bordering on hysterical, whispering through her tears that she was sorry for making their mother angry-- Cas had gone out the back door, not wanting to run into Amelia again, and climbed the ladder that had been leaning against the trailer for years. It had once been shiny and new, but after being left out for so long, it had turned to brittle rust. Rachel constantly yelled at him for messing with it, telling him that one day it was going to collapse on top of him, but Cas didn't listen. It's just a ladder, right? He only used it for one purpose, climbing up on the roof.

The roof was Cas’ sanctuary, it was quiet and not many people thought to look there. He could stay there for hours, and no one would bother him. Not unless he wanted them to. He assumed his family knew where he was, given the noise it must make when he actually climbed up there, but none of them had ever joined him. They must have understood what it meant for him to be alone up there.

Note how he only mentioned his family.

“Yo, Novak!” Someone called from down below, breaking him from his thoughts. Meg, his best friend and next door neighbor. “I know you’re up there.”

He exhaled the smoke from the drag he’d just taken, not really wanting to get up, but knowing that Meg wouldn’t simply give up and walk away. It just wasn’t in her nature. Instead, he sucked it up and pushed himself into a sitting position, sliding down the slanted roof until he neared the gutters, looking down over the edge at his friend, who was standing there, a look of impatience on her face and her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Megan?” he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. She scrunched up her nose in disgust, huffing and taking to the ladder, which creaked a bit from the sudden force put on it when she heaved herself up onto it.

“Don’t call me that,  _Castiel_.” She said, pulling herself up and settling down next to her friend, taking the cigarette from his hand and taking a pull. She frowned as she let out a puff of smoke, looking down first at the cigarette in her hand, then at the pack that lay just next to the boy next to her. “Really? Cheyenne’s?”

Cas shrugged, taking the cigarette from her and bringing it to his own lips. “I’m a little low on cash right now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “You just got paid last week. Where the hell did that go?”

He looked over, giving her a look. “Where do you think?” he asked.

In the distance he could Bobby Singer’s garage, which lay right between their dinky little trailer park and the nicer part of town, a few lights still illuminating the windows, even though dusk was quickly closing in on the town. Most likely they were closing up shop right now and Michael would be home soon.

Meg sighed, then placed a hand on her friend’s arm. She was looking at him, he could feel her gaze burning a hole in the side of his face, but he didn’t want to see the pitying look on her face, so he kept staring ahead.

“Cas,” she said softly, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. “You can’t keep letting her do this to you. You earned that money.”

“What am I supposed to do, exactly?” he asked, shrugging her hand off and pushing back his hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette. In a voice that was very obviously meant to be mocking, he continued, “‘Mom, you gotta stop stealing my shit to pay for your dope or whatever other drugs you happen to be hitting at the moment.’ Yeah, that’d go over  _super_ well.”

“Well, you can’t just do nothing about it either.”

“Meg,” he sighed, looking down at his crossed legs. “Just let it go for now, okay? I just… I can’t deal with that-- with her-- right now.”

Meg’s facial expression immediately morphed into one of concern. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine.” But the thought of Hael, bawling her eyes out until she finally fell asleep, he reconsidered. “Or, well, they’re all physically fine.”

"And?" She prompted, and her tone of voice suggested that she wasn't satisfied with his answer.

"Alright, fine," he said, scowling at her, though it didn't seem to faze her. "Hael walked in on Amelia shooting up earlier. She didn’t exactly take it well.”

Meg scoffed, shaking her head like she was disappointed. “Well, no, probably not considering she’s fucking eleven years old. I mean--”

Cas spoke up, silencing her. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

Meg smirked and leaned closer to look into her friend’s face. “Like what? Your little eye-fucking session with a Mr. Winchester today at lunch?”

Cas looked down instantly, feeling his face begin to heat up. He didn’t want to give Meg the satisfaction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Novak, I’ve known you since we were kids,” Meg said, letting her smirk fade into a rare-- for her, at least-- look of seriousness. “I know your crushing face, and that was it.”

“Christ, is no conversation safe with you?” Cas said in exasperation, throwing up his hands. He sighed, bringing them back down to rest on his legs, which he’d rearranged into a pretzel style. “Always grilling me.”

“Well, would you tell me if I didn’t?” she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He was silent, knowing the answer well and good. “Exactly. That is why I have to drag it out because you’d never say it on your own.”

“Whatever, Meg,” he muttered. His face had cooled significantly, though he was still sure there was some kind of sign of embarrassment on his face. Cas stood up, brushing some dirt from his jeans, and looked down at Meg, nodding toward the ladder. “I’m heading inside. Figure I’ll check on Hael, make sure she’s doing okay.”

“Okay,” Meg agreed, not moving from where she was. Cas didn’t really care enough to do anything about it, since really, who did it hurt if she wanted to stay up there a little longer? He wasn’t territorial or anything. Just as Cas was about to climb down the ladder, he was stopped by Meg clearing her throat, which made him look up to meet her eyes, which were full of concern. “Cas, just… be careful, alright? Winchester isn’t like us. Hell, people like us scare half of the town, but especially boys with perfect little apple pie lives.”

“I wasn’t planning to do anything about it,” Cas replied quietly, looking down at the rusted ladder rungs below.

“Okay,” she said simply, the worry never leaving her face, even after Cas had gone inside.

 

* * *

 

 

“So what happened to us cutting down on spending or whatever? I mean, eating out isn’t exactly saving us any money.” Sam said, taking a sip of his water.

They were seated at one of the corner booths, menus opened before them although they were already practically memorized. Their orders were almost always the same, a Greek salad for the Sasquatch and a bacon cheeseburger with onion rings for Dean, so why they even bothered to look at the menus was a mystery to him, but yet, here they were.

“Mom told me I ought to take you out, ya know, one last hurrah or whatever,” Dean answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jo, who was coming up to their table with a worrisome smirk on her face. “Before we’re living off of white rice and tic-tacs.”

Sam’s eyes turned worried at that, “Wait, what?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, I’m kidding. Do you honestly think Mom would let it come to that?”

“So guys, what can I get you?” Jo asked, though her eyes stayed on Dean the entire while, an odd twinkle in her eye that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. “The usual, or have you two finally decided to branch out?”

“Why branch out when I could have myself a perfectly good burger?” Dean asked, grabbing Sam’s menu, which caused him to pout, and handing over it and his own to Jo. “The usual, please.”

“Coming right up,” Jo said, not even having to write anything down, but instead just heading straight for the kitchen.

Sam sat back in his seat, arms folded and a pout on his face. “Maybe I wanted to try something different this time.”

Dean scoffed, “Like what? Chef instead of Greek?”

Sam shook his head, muttering under his breath something about him being a colossal jerk, before pulling out his phone. Dean reached across, though, taking it from his hands and pulling it close before he could grab it back.

“Uh uh, you know the rules, Sammy,” Dean said, holding up the phone and letting it swing back and forth teasingly. “No phones at the table.”

Sam sighed. “Is there some reason why we’re here, Dean?”

Dean had wanted to wait a little bit, hold it off until he couldn’t anymore, simply so he didn’t have to see that look of hurt on his little brother’s face. He remembered very well the last time he’d seen it, a month ago when their dad had packed up all his things and left. John had come upstairs to talk to them, to explain, but it had quickly turned into a screaming match, Sam letting out all his hurt and frustration on the man that was supposed to be their father, but was leaving them for another family he’d kept hidden from them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a familiar twang.

“Well if it isn’t the Winchester boys,” Ellen said when she reached the table, hands coming to rest on her hips and a smile forming on her face. “How’s Mary?”

“She’s doing okay,” Dean said, though it kind of felt like a lie. Mary Winchester was strong and brave in the face of just about anything, but even Dean could see how badly the whole situation with their father was cutting her up inside.

Ellen’s eyes softened at that like she knew exactly what was going on in his head. But then, she’d always seemed to be pretty good at studying people. She did work in a bar, after all. Though, it could honestly just be because it was Mary, the girl she’d been best friends with since they were kids and who was the godmother of her daughter, just as she was her sons’. “Tell her to give me a call, ya hear? I haven’t heard from her in awhile.”

“Here we are,” Jo said, thankfully interrupting them. He already had to tell his brother bad news, the last thing he needed right then was to also have to think of what his mother was going through. “Bacon cheeseburger with onion rings, extra crispy,” She placed down the first plate, then as she set down the other, “And a Greek salad for rabbit boy.”

“Hey!” Sam said, looking hurt. “I’m not a rabbit.”

“Sure eat like one,” Jo joked, reaching over and messing up his too-long hair and walking away.

“You really should get a haircut one of these days,” Dean suggested, picking up an onion ring and taking a bite.

“Jerk,”

“Bitch.”

“Sam?”

Dean looked over and found a girl to be standing next to them. She looked maybe a few years younger than him, with long curly blond hair that reached down past her breasts and dark gray eyes, which happened to be entirely focused on Sam.

“Oh, hey, Jess,” Sam said, smiling at her kindly. “What happened to study group?”

“We studied… a little.” Jess said, looking embarrassed for a moment before she seemed to just brush it off, straightening up. “Anyway, Kevin, Ava, and I just decided to stop here for something to eat, and then I saw you and I just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh,” Sam said, “Well, hi.”

“Sammy, why don’t you go sit with your friends?” Dean offered, gesturing toward a booth on the other side of the room where two others, who he guessed were Kevin and Ava, sat, waiting and watching.

“What? No, Dean--” Sam tried to argue, only to have Dean shake his head at him, holding up a hand to halt him.

“We eat dinner together almost every night. It’s not like I don’t ever get to see you.” Dean said.

“But I thought you had something you wanted to tell me?” Sam asked hesitantly, though he could tell he really did want to go over and join his nerd friends. And why not, it’s not like Dean was really in a  _lets-crush-what-little-respect-Sam-has-left-for-Dad_ kind of mood.

Dean feigned a smile, making a shooing gesture with his hand. “Go, Sammy. Your fellow nerds are waiting for you.”

“Okay,” Sam said, standing up and taking his plate. He hesitated for a moment, though, looking at his brother with wide, concerned eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean assured him, “Jo’s probably due for a break right about now. Now get out of here before I drag you over there myself.”

Jess shot him a grateful smile, and she and Sam walked off to their friends, talking in hushed voices the whole way. Dean was glad to see it, considering Sam hadn’t shown much interest in anything the last few months, least of all girls. He’d just spent most of his time locked away, working on homework and other smart kid things, but ignoring his friends. He was happy to see him actually getting out there, and especially with a girl like Jess.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Jo asked, leaning over and stealing an onion ring from his plate before he could stop her, and taking a seat across from him, casually swinging her legs up onto it and leaning her back against the wall.

“Sammy’s new girlfriend,” Dean said happily.

“Uh huh,” Jo said, nodding like she was agreeing with something, all the while watching Sam and his friends interact. “Dean? Has Sam, you know, told you anything lately?”

“No, why?” Dean asked, looking confused.

“No reason,” Jo asked almost too casually, studying his face in a way that was a bit odd, even for her, but he elected to ignore it. At the moment, he was just glad Sam was happy.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t brought it up yet?” Jess asked when they arrived back at their booth, having slid in across from the other two, who were carefully studying their menus, clearly trying not to be obvious about the fact that they had just been watching him at the other table like hawks.

“ _Jess_ ,” he groaned, feeling truly exhausted by just the mention of the subject. “No, I haven’t, okay? My family’s kind of going through some stuff right now and the last thing they need is-”

“Their son telling them the truth?” she said, finishing the sentence for him.

“A queer son to make everything a million times worse,” Sam corrected her, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“And what about Dean, huh?” Jess said, glancing over at Sam’s brother’s table, where he sat joking around with Jo. “Do you honestly think he’s the type of person who would cut you out over something like this?”

“I--I don’t know,” Sam said, sounding unsure. He looked down at the table and began tapping his fingers against the surface, a nervous habit of his. “I hope not.”

“But you’re not going to try?”

“I can’t lose him,” Sam said softly, almost too much so to be heard. At a normal volume, he said, “I already know I’m going to lose Dad, that’s practically guaranteed, but as for Mom and Dean?” He shook his head, looking up to meet her eyes. “I don’t know, Jess. I just know I can’t lose them over this.”

Jess was silent, and by the look on her face, she was clearly thinking it through. Sam knew that, in his case, pushing him didn’t do any good. He was much too stubborn, too headstrong, and so the only thing that would make him do something was his own choice to do so. Finally, she nodded, thankfully deciding to let the subject drop for then.

“Fine,” Jessica agreed, but an impish smile appeared on her face, instantly making Sam second guess himself. Sure, he had managed to avoid one subject he didn’t want to discuss, but he was sure there were about a million more that could easily take its place. “But if I can’t talk to you about that, I want to hear all about this cute boss of yours.”

Sam’s face turned red, but he nodded, “His name’s Gabriel. Gabriel Novak.”

Jess gasped, staring at her friend. Even the other two, who had been otherwise occupied by their menus, looked up. “A  _Novak_? And you’re only just telling me about this now?”

“So what if he’s a Novak?” he asked.

“Hun, they’re the talk of the town. Always have been.” Jess said, shrugging like this was just an undeniable fact. “Junkie mom, dead dad, and then seven kids living in one trailer? Not to mention the shit they’ve been known to cause,” She looked at him sympathetically, though all it ended up doing was making him feel worse. “Just think about it before you walk into anything.”

Sam gave her a weak smile. “And here I thought I was just going to get lectured on the age difference.”

“That too,” Jess agreed, nodding. She pointed at him, “But honestly, watch out for those Novaks, Sam, they’re nothing but trouble.”

 


	3. Behind My Back, I Already Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Watch it, you ogre,” snapped Meg Masters, glaring at him while her friend knelt down to pick up the books that had fallen. When the boy finished and looked up, meeting his gaze with those telltale blue eyes, he realized who it was- Castiel Novak. The same boy he’d been staring at in the cafeteria the other day. God, Dean thought, he probably thinks I’m a fucking creep or something.  
> “Hey, eyes down here, buddy,” the girl said, snapping him out of his daze and drawing his attention back to her now smirking face. “Didn't anyone ever teach you it isn't polite to stare?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually kind of like this chapter. Hopefully you all do too.

 "I will never end up like him

Behind my back, I already am   
Keep a calendar   
This way you will always know"

** -  What A Catch, Donnie, Fall Out Boy ** ****

  


When Dean was little-- and god, it seemed like such a long time ago-- he and his father were very close. John used to take him and, later, Sammy, everywhere. He would sometimes bring them to work at the garage just to spend time with him, because he loved his boys. And on weekends, he would take them over to KU to watch baseball games, munching on peanuts and cheering on the Jayhawks, which to this day was Dean’s favorite college team.   

Not many people seemed to share his interest in college baseball, focused much more on football, which Dean didn’t like even half as much as baseball, but still, his love for the team remained strong. Even after his love for his father turned sour.  

So when he pulled into the driveway after school the next day, Sam riding shotgun next to him, only to find his father’s black truck parked on the street, one can imagine why his stomach would churn.   

“Dean?” Sam asked, snapping Dean out of his daze, in which he simply stared at the truck, trying to work up the courage to get out of the car and go inside. Dean glanced over at his younger sibling, whose eyes were wide with surprise. He was expecting anger, but then, the younger boy was probably just stunned, as they hadn’t seen their father since he’d moved out.  

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said, taking a shaky breath. He was wondering if maybe they should just leave, come back later when he was hopefully gone, but the thought of leaving their mother alone with him, that motivated him to kill the engine. After a moment of tense silence, Dean said, “We should go inside.”  

“Dad’s in there,” Sam said, like that wasn’t already completely obvious.  

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, opening his door and climbing out. “So is Mom.”  

The two of them climbed the steps to the front porch, nearing the door, but hesitating to open it. They hadn’t seen John in nearly a month, when he’d decided to pack his bags and move into Kate’s trailer on the other side of town; the most Dean had heard about him was that Kate and him were getting married and having another baby. Yet, here they were, about to be face to face with him.  

Dean pushed the door open, stepping into the small foyer and calling, “Mom? We’re home!”  

“Boys?” They heard her call back, though the strain in her voice worried Dean. Something was clearly wrong. “Could you come here for a moment? I’m in the living room.”  

The two brothers glanced at each other, and Dean could see the very same concern he felt written on his younger sibling’s face. When they reached the living room, they stopped, unsure of what to do with the sight before them.   

The Winchester’s living room was fairly nice, the product of two decent salaries and some extra cash from that one-time John had actually won a couple hundred bucks from those scratch-off lottery tickets he always bought. They had a nice, 55” Insignia HDTV, a black leather sectional, and two matching recliners. Modern artwork, all picked out by Mary, who had always had a bit of a flare for art, was hung on the walls. They also had a nice brick fireplace, the mantel of which was full of pictures-- pictures of him and Sam growing up, of Dean’s first dance that he’d gone to with Charlie, just as friends though, and a picture of Mary and John on their wedding day. Dean noticed that particular picture was placed face down.  

In one of those black recliners sat John, though he sat on the very edge of his seat, looking down at the paperwork being held by a woman in the other recliner. This woman was dressed in a grey pant suit and black heels, her auburn hair put up in a professional bun. Dean recognized her as Naomi MacLeod, the wife of yet another lawyer, Fergus MacLeod, who happened to be sitting right next to his mother on the sectional, wearing his usual dark suit and looking at ease, unlike his mother, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere but there.  

All four of them looked up when the boys entered the room, though the only one Dean paid any attention to was his mother, whose expression turned to one of relief at the sight of her sons.   

“Sam, Dean,” she said, trying to sound composed. “You know Naomi and Fergus.”  

“I prefer Crowley, ma’am,” Crowley told her with a smile.  

“Yes, right, Crowley,” she corrected herself. “Well, Crowley happens to be my attorney, so you’ll be seeing a lot of him in the next few weeks.”  

“That doesn’t explain what they’re doing here,” Dean said flatly, nodding toward his father and Naomi, who simply raised her eyebrows.   

“Dean,” his mother said in a warning voice.  

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sounding very sorry at all.  

“Naomi happens to be my lawyer, Dean,” John said, looking at his son in disapproval. Dean didn’t give a damn though, as far as he was concerned, John had lost his right to tell him what to do the second he’d ditched their family.  

“Well, good for you,” Dean said in a too-polite voice, forcing a smile. He could’ve sworn he’d even heard Crowley chuckle. “Any other updates you’d like to give us? Like, for example, how’s the new family doing?”  

John’s expression darkened. “Maybe you’d know if you’d answer the goddamn phone,” he growled out.  

“Maybe I’d answer if you weren’t such a-”  

“Woah, let’s not go there, shall we?” Crowley said in his smooth Scottish accent, sounding very at ease, which was odd, considering all the tension in the room. Then again, he was a lawyer, he’d probably dealt with much worse in terms of fighting amongst family members. “I hardly think that name calling will get us anywhere.”  

“Is it even necessary for them to be here for this?” Naomi asked in a brisk tone, barely glancing at the two boys in the doorway before turning her full attention on her client.  

“No, they don’t,” John answered, shooting Dean and Sam a look. “Boys, go upstairs.”  

“You’re not the boss of us anymore,” Sam spat out, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. “As far as I’m concerned, we have one parent, and that’s mom.”  

“Boy, you show me some respect,” John said harshly.  

“Why?” Sam asked with a bitter little smirk, crossing his arms and stepping forward into the room. “Because you helped make us? Maybe that was enough before, but you left us. Now you’re nothing more than a glorified sperm donor.”  

“I couldn’t just ignore Adam, Sam.”  

“Oh, you mean the bastard child you created when you cheated on mom?” Sam said, scoffing. “That’s a great argument, Dad, really it is.”  

“I also couldn’t leave Kate alone, not when she’s pregnant--” John said, making Sam freeze, his eyes widening in shock. He was silent for a moment, not moving or doing anything other than staring at his father, but when he snapped out of it, his lip was quivering.  

“You--” Sam started, but shook his head and started again. “She’s pregnant? Again?”  

“Again, maybe if you answered the phone--”   

“Shut up!” Sam shouted, tears pooling in his eyes, though he fought to blink them back. “Just shut up your asshole!”  

“Sammy,” Dean said, placing his hand on his little brother’s shoulder, only to have it be knocked off. Sam looked at him with tear-filled eyes, searching his face until he apparently found something, and his expression fall even further.   

“You knew,” he said softly, brokenly.  

“Yeah, Sammy, I knew,” Dean sighed. “I was going to tell you last night but--”  

“But you didn’t,” Sam said, his expression hurt. “You let me go with my friends, thinking everything was all fine and dandy, when all this was going on behind my back. You lied to me.”  

“I didn’t lie to you,” Dean said, though he wasn’t really sure what else to say. Did he tell him how he was scared? How he didn’t want to make things even harder on him by letting him know that not only did their father cheat on their mother for years behind everyone’s backs, but he got two kids out of it. Because that would just help so much.  

“Not telling me is no better than lying,” Sam said, sounding betrayed and disappointed.  

With one last look around the room, at the looks ranging anywhere between anger and sympathy, he bolted from the room, moving toward the stairs down in the foyer. Silence fell over the room and after a few moments they heard a door slam shut.  

"Well," Dean said, folding his hands and smiling too-cheerfully at his father. "Bang up job on that one, Dad. Guess we'll see you the next time you decide to bring your crap into our house."  

Dean didn't wait for a reply from his startled looking father, just turning on his heel and disappearing up the stairs.  

 

 

 

  
 

Dean was not having a good day. Not at all.  

Sam had been avoiding him since their father had left the night before, and no matter how many times Dean would knock on his door and beg him to please let him in so he could explain, he got no answer. The same thing had happened over breakfast, which Mary had forced him to sit down and eat with them, and also during the drive to school. There was just no cracking this kid.  

And now, as he stood in the hallway positively fuming, it was because his goddamn locker refused to open. Great. Wonderful. And on top of that? His locker partner, Garth, was nowhere to be found.   

“Locker troubles?” Jo asked, leaning against the locker next to his with a smirk.  

Dean opened his mouth to snap out a smartass comment, but honestly, he was just tired. He was tired of being ignored by his brother, of watching his family fall apart, and of fighting with stubborn lockers, but homeroom hadn’t even started and he still had eight more periods to go before he could go home.  

He sighed, leaning his head against the locker. “It won’t open.”  

“Let me try,” Jo said, gently nudging her friend out of her way, dropping her backpack and rubbing her hands together like she was readying herself to do something important. “What’s the combination?”  

“8-34-44,” Dean answered tiredly, having accepted that he was probably going to have to go down to the attendance office, where they kept a master key. “But I doubt it’s going to--”  

The locker swung open easily before he could even finish, revealing the cluttered interior.  

“What?” Dean asked incredulously.  

“You probably forgot you were supposed to pass the second number the first time around,” Jo explained, shrugging her backpack back onto her shoulder. “It’s only October so I’ll give you a pass on that one.”  

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, grabbing the books he would need for his next class, Pre-Calc, and slamming the locker shut. “Well, at least something has gone my way today.”  

But clearly he had spoken too soon, because just as he and Jo had started on their way down the hall, he felt a smaller body collide with his and heard the sound of textbooks hitting the floor.  

“Watch it, you ogre,” snapped Meg Masters, glaring at him while her friend knelt down to pick up the books that had fallen. When the boy finished and looked up, meeting his gaze with those telltale blue eyes, he realized who it was- Castiel Novak. The same boy he’d been staring at in the cafeteria the other day.  God, Dean thought, he probably thinks I’m a fucking creep or something.  

“Hey, eyes down here, buddy,” the girl said, snapping him out of his daze and drawing his attention back to her now smirking face. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it isn’t polite to stare?”  

“I wasn’t--” Dean started, but cut himself off when Meg’s smirk only widened. He had been staring, after all. Out of the corner of his eyes he thought he saw Cas blushing, but figured, yeah, he would be too if he’d just had it pointed out to everyone in the now building crowd that some creep had been staring him down.  

"Uh huh," Meg said dismissively, like she not only didn't believe him, but she didn't even see it as worth her time to argue.   

Then again, this was Meg Masters they were talking about. A person would be damn lucky if she even so much as acknowledged his or her existence. Dean was just about to turn to leave, not feeling quite in the mood to be Meg's social punching bag right then, but a hand placed gently on his arm halted him. When he looked back, the shorter girl was looking up at him with an expression of sympathy that immediately unnerved him.   

"So is it true that there's a new baby Winchester on the way?" She asked, her smirk finally surfacing through all her bullshit concern.   

“Meg,” Cas hissed, looking frantically back and forth between Dean and his friend. He placed a hand on Meg’s shoulder, gently tugging her back, away from Dean. “That was rude. Apologize.”  

Meg glanced behind her to her friend, smiling fondly. “Cassie, I appreciate your concern but I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl.”  

“You sure about that?” Cas asked, his face conveying his disbelief. “Because all I’m seeing here is you picking a fight where one need not be picked.”  

“You might wanna listen to your boyfriend there, sweetheart,” Dean said, his voice much too nice and his smile a twisted kind of friendly. “I’m not exactly in the mood for smartass little girls trying to start shit with me.”  

Something like disgust crossed the shorter girl’s face, her nose scrunching up and her mouth twisting, “Boyfriend? God no, he’s like my fucking brother. That’s just…” She shivered, as if she were just that repulsed by the idea, “Oh, gross.”  

“Thanks,” Cas said, his voice sarcastic and just this side of hurt. But not like unrequited love kind of hurt so much as why-you-gotta-put-me-down kind of offended.  

“Oh, you’re welcome, hon,” Meg said absently, her attention having turned back to Dean. “Now, as for you, I don’t really care what kind of mood you’re in, Dean. ‘Because you see, I’m not in the greatest mood either.”  

Dean raised an eyebrow, wondering to himself exactly why he should even care.  

“Don’t you wanna know why?” Meg asked, sounding as if her patience was beginning to run thin.  

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Jo said, rolling her eyes and forcing a polite smile onto her face. In a chipper voice, she asked, “Why are you in such a bad mood, Meg?”  

“Well, Barbie, you cutting into my conversations certainly isn’t making it any better,” Meg said, her voice sickeningly sweet and her expression one of pure innocence.  

Jo stepped forward, most likely about to either blow her out of the water with a smartass comment, one that would no doubt start a fight, or simply start the fight right then and there, no prelude. Dean, having grown up with the fiery dragon girl that was Jo Harvelle, knew this all in an instant, and so reached out and grabbed her arm, not letting her take another step.  

“Just tell us what the fuck you want, Masters,” Dean said, gritting his teeth in the effort to hold Jo, who was struggling to get away, back from the fight she now definitely wanted. “We don’t exactly have time for your cryptic comments. Cut to the chase.”  

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that your new Mommy, Kate, owes my step-brother some money,” Meg said simply, like it was no big deal, meanwhile the gears in Dean’s head began to turn rapidly. Money? Why the hell would Kate owe Alastair Masters anything? Meg snapped him out of his thoughts, though, when added, “And she’d damn better have it all this time or we’re going to have some trouble.”  

Oh. It clicked in his mind, though he absolutely hated the thought of it. Alastair was the town dealer. He worked as somewhat of a lackey for some big wig dealers over in Philly, pushing drugs on the people of their particular town. And for Kate to owe him money, that could only mean one thing…  

“Kate doesn’t do drugs,” Dean said, trying to sound sure of himself, though his words ended up coming out a bit shaky. A crowd was beginning to form around them, which only served to make him even more nervous and unsure.  

“Meg,” Cas now growled, his facial expression hardening into something almost dangerous, though the worry was still clear in his black-lined blue eyes. “Stop it. This is none of our business.”  

Meg leaned forward just slightly, which was the furthest she was able to get before Cas’ grip tightened, holding her in place. She met Dean’s eyes with a smirk, saying in a lower volume, “Just be sure your Daddy’s crackwhore pays her bills, okay, Deano?”   

“That’s it,” Jo said, finally wrenching herself from Dean’s hold and marching toward Meg, grabbing her long dark hair and using it to pull her forward. “Listen here, this may be how things work amongst your trailer trash friends, but that’s not how things work here. So, when I let you go, you’re going to take your drama and go on your way, understood?”  

“Oh, hair pulling. How cute,” Meg cooed, though you could tell by the look on her face that she was in a decent amount of discomfort. Jo simply smirked, giving her hair a good, firm tug, causing her to whimper in pain, before letting her go and taking a step back.   

“Come on,” Cas said, going to place his arm around his friend’s back to lead her away, only to be pushed out of the way when Meg whipped back around, quickly approaching Jo and taking the both of them down to the ground. The crowd cheered, happy to finally see some action.  

Cas had taken to nervously playing with his lip ring, looking as if he were thinking of what to even do in such a situation. It was clear to the rational side of Dean’s brain that this was completely unexpected, but as far as the irrational side was concerned, he was responsible for this too. Dean moved forward, stepping around the girls and standing in front of the other boy, who looked at him with confusion and a healthy dose of fear.  

“You gonna stop your pet or not, bud?” He asked irritably, nodding back toward Meg and Jo. Currently, Meg was straddling Jo, fighting to get a hit in while Jo blocked using her forearms. He was comforted by the fact that she knew what she was doing, this was nowhere near her first rodeo, but he’d much prefer Meg to not be attempting to murder the girl who was like his little sister.  

“Meg isn’t my pet,” Cas argued, though when his gaze met Dean’s angry one, he must have realized how pointless his words were. He sighed, looking past Dean to the girls. “Meg is… very independent. She listens to no one.”  

“You’re her friend,” Dean argued back. “She should give a shit what you have to say. Or are you in favor of her taking out her rage on my friend?”  

Cas narrowed his eyes, stepping forward until they were nearly chest to chest, his breath blowing softly against Dean’s jaw, as he stood just a few inches shy of Dean himself. “Fine, but don’t expect me to tame your friend as well.”  

Not another word spoken, Cas slowly inched his way toward the girls, trying not to make any sudden movements, so as to avoid setting them off even more. He quickly reached down and took hold of Meg by the waist, pulling her until she was forced back, though Cas was brought to his knees.   

Dean tried to grab for Jo, but she was too quick, her fist flying straight for Meg and Cas, who didn’t seem to even notice, his attention solely on Meg, who was still fighting to escape. Cas, just at the last moment, looked up, and, though the hit was meant for Meg, it got Cas right in the cheek.   

“Shit,” Jo exclaimed when she realized what she’d done, moving back and covering her mouth. Cas, who seemed to be in a bit of shock, covered his cheek with his hand, his eyes somehow finding Dean’s. Why his, he had no idea, but Dean tried to tell Cas with his eyes how sorry he was. Hell, he was the one who’d pushed him into that fight. He quickly snapped out of it, though, when Meg made to lunge at her, pulling her back.   

“Meg, stop,” he said softly.  

“She hurt you,” Meg argued, turning and gently placing a hand on his cheek, which caused him to wince and back away. “Sorry,” she said, actually sounding like she meant it.  

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “It was an accident.”  

“Accident or not,” A new voice said, “There will be consequences,” When Dean looked just behind Cas and Meg, he met the cold blue eyes of their principal, Zachariah Adler. “Now, Miss Harvelle, Miss Masters, follow me.”  

Jo glanced at Dean hesitantly, as if she were afraid of what she might see. Her eyes were wide and apologetic, though she stood and obediently followed Principal Adler down the hall toward his office.    

Once they had gone, Dean looked down to find Cas standing there, still holding his cheek. Guilt twisted in his gut and instead of leaving to follow Jo like he’d planned, he stuck around, “Um, I could take you to the nurse if you want,” Dean offered awkwardly.  

“Already here,” Nurse Moseley said, coming up from behind and placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, Castiel, I’ll get you an ice pack.”  

Dean watched as Cas was led away, unsure of what to do. What was most confusing of all, though, wasn’t Dean’s scrambled thoughts, but how Cas glanced back at him over his shoulder, the look on his face almost thankful. But then he and the nurse rounded the corner, leaving Dean to stand alone in the evaporating crowd, confused as to what had even just occurred.    

 

  
 

Sam was usually a strong-willed individual, able to force himself to concentrate on just one more chapter of Biology when he was practically asleep at his desk at 1 AM, or to take the time to work through a complicated equation instead of just skipping it entirely, but Gabriel Novak was quickly proving to be a test to his will.   

Gabe, as he’d been instructed to call him, had been in charge of training him for the past two days. He’d so far taught him how to work the register and how and where to arrange the pastries in their case, cupcakes and other iced and glazed things in the bottom shelf and less flashy ones on the top, so customers would have to look at everything.   

It was his last day of training before he’d begin regular shifts on Monday, and Gabe was currently attempting to teach him what he viewed to be the most important part of the pastry-selling business- sucking up to customers.   

In a nearby corner sat Alfie, who happened to be Gabe’s younger brother, coloring away in a dinosaur coloring book. At the sound of his older brother’s voice, though, he looked up and grinned. Gabe looked at the younger boy fondly, winking at him before turning his attention back to Sam.  

“Now remember, your goal is to get me to buy more than I originally planned,” Gabriel explained, hand on Sam’s shoulder and making sparks shoot through his veins from the contact. Thankfully, Gabe let go and backed off before Sam was expected to speak. God only knows what would have come out of his mouth if not for that. “Come on, Sammy, use those wide puppy dog eyes of yours. The ladies will especially go gaga for them.”  

Sam thought for a minute, his face scrunching up as he tried to figure out what to say. What would someone have to say to him to get him to buy something? When, finally, something came to him, his eyes snapped to Gabe’s, which oddly enough, were already on him. Gabe’s eyes widened and his face took on a slight pink hue that Sam was sure he’d imagined, and he coughed, looking down and saying, “Go on.”  

“Um-”  

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “You never use ‘um’ when trying to convince someone of something. It makes you sound unsure of yourself and that’s the last thing you want them to think.”  

“What should I do then?” Sam asked, sighing.  

“Try distracting them without letting them know they’re being distracted. Be friendly and personable, and somehow manage to work the goods into your conversation. Talk them up.” Gabe told him, gesturing toward the glass case of baked goods. “And honestly, the goods do a lot of the work for you by just being great. It’s not like you’re trying to sell them dog shit or anything.”  

“Um, thanks, Gabe,” Sam said, his eyebrows knitting together.  

Before either one of them could say another word, the bell chimed on the door, Gabriel smiled, patting Sam on the shoulder and heading toward the counter, “Watch and learn, Sammy.”  

“It’s Sam,” Sam muttered to himself, his face flushing red, though deep down, he wasn’t really all that bothered. Coming from Gabe it seemed like it was a sort of endearment.   

“Welcome to A Little Slice of Heaven - Cas?” Gabe said, suddenly sounding surprised. Sam watched as Gabe hurriedly moved around the counter toward a boy a few years older than himself, maybe his brother Dean’s age. The boy had dark hair and bright eyes lined with black eyeliner, which only made those brilliant eyes stand out even more. Something else that Sam quickly noticed about the other boy was that his cheek was bruising. Gabe placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder and the other on his cheek, which only caused the boy to wince in pain. “Sorry, buddy.”  

Sam, being the nosy little shit he was, immediately wanted to know who this other boy was. Was he Gabe’s boyfriend? Sure, he looked a bit young, probably still in high school, but maybe he was of age. The thought of Gabe and this boy together made something twist in Sam’s stomach.  

“Cassie, what happened?” Gabe asked, sounding concerned and just a bit angry. “Was it one of those asshole kids from the other side of town again?”  

Again? Was this a regular occurrence? Suddenly Sam found himself feeling bad for this boy, Cassie.  

“No, Gabriel,” the boy said. His voice was surprisingly deep for a boy his age, and especially for a boy with such soft features. “Meg got into a fight and I happened to step in the middle of it. I was trying to stop her.”  

“And that, baby bro, is exactly where your problem lies,” Gabriel said, shaking his head and chuckling. “You don’t try to make Meg do anything, or else you end up with a bruised face.”  

Unless ‘baby bro’ was some weird pet name… well, Cassie must be his brother. Sam found himself sighing in relief.  

“I’ll try to remember that next time,” he said sarcastically, wincing when he placed an ice pack that must have been in his hands already against his cheek. “I’m here to pick up Alfie. Rachel’s still at work and I figured I’d take him over to the park or something while we wait.”  

“Cassie,” the smaller boy ran up to him, wrapping his little arms around the older boy’s legs. “We’re going to the park?”  

Cassie chuckled, leaning down and lifting Alfie up into his arms, “That’s the plan, Alf.”  

“Okay, well you go do that, I’ve got some training to finish-- oh, that reminds me.” Gabe walked toward the counter, looking back at Sam and gesturing for him to come forward. “Come on, Sammy.”  

When Sam rounded the counter, he was met with a small smile from the other boy.  

“Sam, this is my other younger brother, Castiel.” Gabe said, nodding first at Sam and then at the other boy, Castiel. “And Castiel, meet Sam, my trainee.”  

“Nice to meet you, Sam.”  

“Likewise,” Sam said, actually meaning it now that it was confirmed that this boy was in fact, Gabe’s brother. Though, honestly, what right did Sam have to even be upset? Gabe wasn't his property. Hell, he probably wouldn't even want him like that anyway. Why would he want some nerdy little sixteen-year-old?  

“Anyway, I’ve gotta get back to training. Lots of work to be done with this one--”  

“Hey!” Sam said, pouting. Gabe reaches over, running his fingers softly through the younger boys' hair, something like affection on the older man's face.  

For some reason, initiated by Castiel clearing his throat, a look transpires between Gabe and his younger brother, which seemed to deflate the older man's mood significantly. He sighed, but forced a small smile when he ruffled Alfie's hair and patted Castiel’s shoulder.  

“You two go have fun,” Gabe called, waving goodbye as his brothers exited the shop. When he turned back to Sam, he grinned and wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, which he could easily do because they weren’t that far apart in height, even though Gabe was in his twenties and Sam was only sixteen. “Now, where were we?”  

And from that minute, right there as tingles erupted under his skin where Gabe touched, Sam knew that his supposed iron-will was not going to last him much longer.

 

 


	4. We’re Always Sleeping in and Sleeping for the Wrong Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No really,” Sam said, suddenly looking a little off, like something was truly bothering him. Dean was about to ask him what was wrong when he said, looking down. “I don’t like Jess that way.”  
> Dean raised his eyebrows. Jess was a pretty girl and she seemed smart and nice, perfect for Sam even, but he decided to let it go. “Okay, well there are other girls-”  
> “Yeah well maybe I don’t like girls.” Sam said harshly, looking up with narrowed hazel eyes. After the words left his mouth, though, he paled. His eyes widened and filled with worry and he covered his mouth with his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, huh? Like a month. God, I feel like an ass for taking so long but between school and Senior trip I just didn't have a whole lot of time. But I promise from here on out I'll try to make updates for this and my other story more regular, okay? And if I start taking too long, feel free to message me on Tumblr and tell me to hurry it up- just be sure to remind me what to hurry up with, because I'm a lazy piece of shit who takes forever doing everything so that isn't always specific enough. Anyway, here you go, chapter four. And the next update for HK should be up within the next week, I promise.

_"Is this more than you bargained for yet?_  
_Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet_  
_Wishing to be the friction in your jeans_  
_Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?_  
_I'm just a notch in your bedpost_  
_But you're just a line in a song"_

**\- Fall Out Boy, Sugar We're Goin Down**

 

It was when Gabe arrived home later that night that Cas decided to shoot it all down for him. He’d come in smiling stupidly, feeling light as air, as if everything was finally going right for him, finally, everything was working out, but of course, it didn’t last. Nothing good ever lasted for him.

“You realize he’s just a kid, right?” Cas asked, looking sympathetic, which only served to annoy Gabe even more than if he’d just came out with it, his usual smirk and everything still there, “Nothing can happen between you two.”

Gabe felt his smile fall away at that, “He’s of age, Cassie,” Gabe said bitterly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the kitchen counter, “Last I checked, the age of consent in Pennsylvania is sixteen.”

“Yeah, it is,” Cas agreed exasperatedly, though Gabe had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like what his brother would add to that statement, “But the age of consent, if you actually read the whole thing instead of just the part where you get your way, only allows a relationship between that sixteen-year-old and someone up to four years older. Last  _I_ checked, you’re twenty-two, Gabe.”

Gabe paused, letting this new information sink in. He couldn’t date Sam if he was more than four years older than him. He would have to be, at most, twenty, which he wasn’t. He felt his mood drop entirely with that realization.

“So… Sam and I--”

“Can’t legally happen until he’s eighteen,” Cas finished gently like he figured he’d already crushed his older brother’s hopes and dreams enough for one day and ought to cut him some slack, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said absent-mindedly. He quickly snapped out of it and met his brother’s eyes, smiling, though he knew just how fake it must look. He nodded toward the living room entrance, then said, “I’m just gonna… yeah.”

"Gabriel--"

He turned and walked out, heading for his room and growing angrier and sadder as the seconds ticked by. Why had he let himself hope? He was Gabriel Novak, for Christ’s sake, and when the hell did the Novak’s ever get to be happy? Never. Not when their family was practically cursed to forever be miserable. Just look at Michael-- he was an incredibly smart kid who could had been accepted to Stanford, but was forced to turn down his dreams of studying mechanical engineering to stay home and take care of the family. Why did he think for even a moment that things would suddenly go right for  _him_ of all people?

He decided, right then, his heart aching at the mere thought, that he would get over Sam if only just to save himself from the pain of wanting what he couldn’t have. And really, whoever even said that the younger boy definitely liked him? He’d caught him looking at him a few times when he must have thought he couldn’t see, but was that a real, honest guarantee that their feelings were mutual?

Just as he entered the hallway leading to the bedrooms, one of the doors opened and out stepped Anna, who gave him a once-over, frowning.

“You okay?” she asked, a look of concern settling on her usually happy face.

Gabe nodded, forcing a smile, although it felt stiff and unnatural. “Peachy. I was gonna go lay down for a little bit. Long day at the bakery and all, ya know?”

Anna nodded, though she seemed a bit hesitant, studying her brother with a look of concern that she tried to hide, but he still saw. “Just, let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is always open.”

He nodded again, but deep down, he just felt shitty. Here, he was the big brother, and he had his little sister offering to help him out? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was older, he should be looking out for her, not the other way around.

He spent the rest of the evening lounging around on his top bunk, flipping through his old skin mags and even breaking out his hidden stash of candy when his hand couldn’t numb his mind like he’d wanted it to. When Castiel came in later on to go to bed, he felt his eyes on him, but pointedly ignored them. He heard his brother sigh and waited for the inevitable talk about his feelings, but his younger brother said nothing and simply climbed onto the bunk below and turned off the lamp on their side of the room, sending the room into partial darkness.

Gabe turned over and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself to sleep, but he couldn’t do it. All he could think about was  _him,_ that adorable little moose of a boy, with his beautiful hazel eyes and his pink lips and-- goddamn it, he was crazy about the kid, okay? He hadn’t even worked there for a week and Gabe was already half in love with the younger boy.

But he would get over it, he vowed to himself, he would let this stupid crush go before it went too far. Because he had to.

 

 

Sam could be stubborn as all hell when he wanted to be. Dean knew this, not just from being related to the kid, but also from being on the other end of it on numerous occasions. More often than not, when they fought, it was Sam angry at Dean, not the other way around, so Dean was well versed in how to deal with situations like this.

“Sammy,” Dean said, leaning his head down so it was level with the side of his younger sibling’s head. “Come on, buddy, talk to me.”

Nothing. Not even a single twitch.

“ _Sam,_ ” he groaned, trying to make it really dramatic. Sam hated when he did that. He said it made him sound like a bratty child, but hey, it if got him to talk. “You’ve been ignoring me for two days now. I get it, you’re pissed, but can you be pissed and still talk to me? Please?”

Sam finally turned to face his older brother with a look of frustration. “Maybe you shouldn’t have lied to me then.”

“Sammy,” Dean said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he thought of how exactly to explain this. He hadn’t thought he’d have gotten Sam to talk so soon. “I was going to tell you, honestly, but then I saw your friends, and I just…”

“You just?” Sam pressed.

Dean met his brother’s eyes, giving him a weak smile. “I didn’t want to ruin your night. You had your friends all there and that girl Jess, and I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Not then, anyway.”

Sam was quiet for a minute, seeming to be mulling it all over. “Jess and I aren’t together.”

“Sam, this is me you’re talking to, okay?” Dean said, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder with a laugh. “You don’t have to hide things from me.”

“No really,” Sam said, suddenly looking a little off like something was truly bothering him. Dean was about to ask him what was wrong when he said, looking down. “I don’t like Jess that way.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. Jess was a pretty girl and she seemed smart and nice, perfect for Sam even, but he decided to let it go. “Okay, well there are other girls--”

“Yeah well maybe I don’t like girls,” Sam said harshly, looking up with narrowed hazel eyes. After the words left his mouth, though, he paled. His eyes widened and filled with worry and he covered his mouth with his hand.

“Sammy,” Dean started, reaching out to try to place a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, but instead Sam quickly shot up from his seat, knocking it back so it made a skidding noise against the floor tiles.

“I’ve gotta go,” Sam said, hurriedly making his way to the side door in the back corner of the kitchen, not looking at Dean as he called, “Kevin and I have a science project due Monday.”

“But--”

The door slammed shut behind him, effectively ending their discussion. Dean sighed, looking at the kitchen table, which was loaded with Sam’s books.

“You forgot your books,” Dean said to no one in particular.

 

 

He couldn’t believe he’d just done that, just blurted it out like it was no big deal. It was a  _huge_ deal-- for Christ’s sake, he’d just come out to Dean, his uber-macho big brother. That could have gone really bad, but thankfully it didn’t, not that he really gave his brother much time to react before rushing out the door with a lie on his lips. But Dean was his big brother, and he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a prick.

Now, their father on the other hand, oh god, if he found out, Sam would be dead meat. Road kill would feel sorry for him. John Winchester was not a tolerant man, not in the slightest. He was narrow-minded and strictly traditional, having once compared same-sex marriage to incest and bestiality. He was your average right-wing Republican voter, looking down his nose at everyone that wasn’t a straight and white. And oh lord, that’s not even mentioning religion, which was funny, considering John had only ever stepped in a church a handful of times in his life, one being when he got married to Mary.

Mary was much more open-minded than her husband and had always scolded him for making insensitive remarks. Sam wasn’t very concerned about her reaction, but he did feel a bit guilty, especially knowing how much she would want grandchildren. Would she still want them as bad if they were adopted, though?

But Dean, well, Sam wasn’t quite sure what to expect of a reaction from him. Maybe he’d flip out like their dad, or be calm and understanding like their mom, or maybe he’d do something completely different, something all-Dean. And what that meant, Sam wasn’t entirely sure.

When Sam arrived at the Tran household, he stood, panting heavily on the doorstep as he waited for someone to answer the door. There was sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck, making his long hair stick to his skin. The door swung open a moment after he’d rung the bell, revealing a smiling Linda, well, until she saw Sam’s sweaty appearance, that is.

“Sam, what happened?” she asked, taking the boy by the arm and bringing him with her into the house. After closing the door behind her, she took to the task of looking him over for something that might be visibly wrong.

“It’s nothing, I just, um, decided to run here,” he told her, shrugging his shoulders and trying to keep his face neutral, so as not to give anything away.

Linda didn’t look convinced. She hummed, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms like she was waiting for the truth, which he knew she was. Really, she played the mom role perfectly.

He sighed, letting his shoulders drop in resignation. “Fine. Dean and I… talked.”

“You talked?” she asked, wanting more.

He’d known Linda almost his whole life, and if he knew anything for sure about that woman, it was that she was persistent.

“I told him.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised like she was expecting something a lot worse. “You mean…?”

“Yes,” Sam said, nodding. “That.”

Linda was silent for a moment before nodding, motioning with her hands for him to go into the kitchen. “Go on, we’ll talk in there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Sam obeyed, wandering into the Tran’s kitchen and taking a seat at the island. From a room that branched right off from the kitchen, Linda’s home office came the sound of clicking keys. Kevin.

“Kevin, Sam’s here,” she called, setting to her decided task of finding him something to drink. Just as Kevin emerged from the office, his hair wild and with dark bags under his eyes, Linda placed a tall glass of iced tea in front of him and he smiled his thanks to her.

Kevin, studying the scene before him, looked a bit confused. “Um, is there a reason why you look like you just ran a marathon?”

“I ran here.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“I was in the mood to exercise.”

“Uh huh,” Kevin said, coming over and settling himself onto the stool next to Sam, facing him. “You wanna try that one again?”

“He told Dean, now hush,” Linda told her son impatiently before turning to Sam, her expression suddenly worried. “He didn’t react badly, did he?”

Sam chuckled nervously, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck, not meeting either one’s eyes. “Funny thing, I may have run out before he could react.”

“Nice one,” Kevin commented, huffing a laugh only to be silenced by the glare his mother shot him.

“Kevin,” Linda said firmly, and her son muttered an apology under his breath. She turned her attention back to Sam, giving the boy a sympathetic look. “Sam, I’ve known you boys since you were in diapers, and I know for a fact that Dean isn’t like that. You’re his little brother and he loves you.”

“But the way I told him,” Sam groaned, resting his head on his folded arms. “I basically yelled it at him and left. God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Sam Winchester,” Linda said sternly and he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder gently. “I won’t sit here and listen to you put yourself down. You were scared, and it’s understandable why. You are not an idiot.”

Sam nodded. It was always better to just agree with Linda than to try to argue. “Should I go back and talk to him?” he asked.

“Maybe that’d be best,” Linda agreed, reaching over and ruffling Sam’s hair, making him huff. He hated when people messed with his hair.

After saying goodbye to the Trans, he left and started his walk home, all the while hoping that Linda was right.

 

 

In the hour since Sam had left, Dean had done a lot of thinking… and cooking. Cooking was what Dean did when he was stressed or upset, and it never failed to relax him. It was simple, follow the recipe, get the result. Easy. And when his head was all messed up and confused, that was exactly what he needed.

The counter was a mess, covered in flour and pie filling, which he knew he’d have to clean up before his mom got home, but all that mess had resulted in a perfect apple pie. But, of course, he hadn’t stopped there. On a plate on the table were his famous bacon cheeseburgers, fresh off the grill and next to that sat a tossed salad, which would at least appease Sam enough that he wouldn’t complain about the burgers-- much.

Before he could even pick up a rag to clean up the mess he’d made, the side door was opening, causing him to wince. He hadn’t wanted his mother to see this mess, not when she was going through as much as she was.

“Sorry, Mom, I’m cleaning up now, I swear,” Dean assured, glancing over his shoulder to find not his mother standing there, but Sam.

“Not Mom,” Sam said, smiling sheepishly as he placed his backpack down on the floor next to the counter. He looked around at the mess that was the kitchen and wrinkled his nose. “Though you really should get to cleaning. It looks like a pie-bomb went off in here.”

“Haha, very funny,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he set to work wiping down the counter. In a bored, nasally voice he said, “Happy Employee Brotherhood Day.”

“That was truly terrible,” Sam said, smiling.

“Hey,” Dean said, crossing his arms and pouting. “I thought it was a pretty good imitation.”

“Sure,” Sam said, shrugging. “If you were trying to sound like a drunken Fran Drescher.”

“Whatever, dork,” Dean said, tossing the now dirty rag at his brother and turning to the sink full of pans.

For a few moments it was quiet, neither one quite certain what to say to break the silence. Sam, of course, being the more emotionally mature one of the brothers, was the one to speak first.

“Are you angry?” He asked cautiously, clearly trying not to let his fear leak into his voice. “I mean; I guess I understand if you are but… I really hope you aren’t.”

Dean sighed, turning around to face his younger brother, “Sammy--”

“Because you’re my big brother and I--” Sam’s voice cracked, and from that point it all went downhill, tears appearing in his eyes. He let out a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you.”

Dean let the pan he’d been holding clatter against the stainless steel of the sink, hurrying around the counter to take hold of his brother and bring him to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around the younger boy.

“You will  _never_ lose me,” Dean said firmly, though his voice shook from the effort to hold back from breaking down too. “You got me?”

How could Sam ever think that he would walk away from him, especially for something as minuscule as his sexual preference? He was ashamed of himself, that he had somehow allowed that idea to worm its way into his brother’s mind. That boy meant everything to him.

Sam nodded against his chest, and with a shuddering sob, he looked up to meet his older brother’s eyes, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Sammy,” Dean murmured, ruffling the younger boy’s hair and making him pout. Dean smirked down at him. “So… does this mean I get to play the whole scary threatening big brother when you bring boys over?”

Sam laughed, but slapped Dean on the shoulder, pulling back from their embrace. “Do it and I’ll tell Mom where all your skin mags are.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dean said, though the twinkle of mischief in Sam’s eyes made him rethink it. “Or maybe you would.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Sam said, leaning down and picking up his bag. “I’m gonna run this upstairs and then I’ll help you clean up. This place is a wreck and Mom should be home soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively, although really, Sam was right. Dean thought there might even be a little flour on the ceiling, but he chose to ignore it for right now. The obvious mess was already sad enough. “Go on, Bitch. We don’t have all day.”

“Fine, Jerk,” Sam said, disappearing through the doorway into the living room, and leaving Dean with his thoughts.

 

 

“So I guess you just joined the club?” Jo asked the next morning on their drive to school. She lived about a block away and he would end up placing her place on the ride to school anyway, so he gave her rides to and from school. Also, she’d turn his ass black and blue if he didn’t.

“What club?” Dean asked, confused.

“The ‘People-Who-Know-Sammy-Likes-Dick Club’, ” Jo said like it was obvious. “Very exclusive. You’re practically VIP.”

“Funny,” Dean said. “I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing that there’s a whole club dedicated to his personal sexual orientation.”

Jo was quiet for a moment, then said, “So, you okay with it? You’re not gonna haul him away to some Straight Camp, are you?”

“What is this, a RuPaul movie?” Dean asked, shaking his head. “No, of course not. He’s my brother and I love him to death, no matter what.”

“You sure it isn’t because you now know you’re not alone in your queerness?” Jo asked, smirking at her friend.

“I ain’t gay, Jo,” Dean said, annoyed. They’d been over this how many times now? A hundred? “I like women.”

“And men, apparently,” Jo said, clearly loving the effect she was having on Dean. She practically lived to annoy him. “I see you looking at that Novak kid at lunch. He’s cute. A bit scary, I’ll admit, but that might have more to do with the she-devil he hangs around with.”

“Jo!” Dean said more harshly, “I told you, I’m straight. I like women only, okay?”

“You know, no one would think differently of you if you’d just come out with it,” she said gently. “No pun intended.”

Dean huffed a laugh, yeah right, everyone would think differently of him and he knew it. And god, what would his dad say? Not that there was anything to say something about. “You and I both know that’s a lie.”

“Okay fine,” Jo said, leaning back in her seat and facing forward. “No one who actually matters would care. Me, Sam, your mom, the rest of our friends- none of them would care. We love you Deano.”

Dean was quiet for the rest of the drive, refusing to give Jo the satisfaction, but her words stuck with him.  _No one who actually matters would care._ Did that mean his dad didn’t matter? The people at school? He hadn’t ever really been one to deviate from the norm, to do something that might be harshly judged by some, and the thought scared him. But, then, what was there to be concerned about if he didn’t even like guys?

Nothing, nothing at all.

 

 

 

“Today, we will be choosing partners for a project on--,” Mr. Finch said, only to be cut off by the groans and moans of the majority of his students, one being Dean himself.

Joshua Finch was the crowned King of projects, and they were always hopping from one almost instantly to the next. And the absolute worst part? They never got to pick their partners. Occasionally he got someone decent, like the time he and Lisa Braeden had been paired up and then proceeded to spend the whole time they should have been working making out on his bed, but he wasn’t always that lucky. He’d once had to do a project on Ellis Island immigrants with Ruby, who spend the whole time trying to get information on Sammy, who was much too young for her, not to mention gay.

“Now, now, at least let me tell you what it’s about before you go complaining about it,” Mr. Finch said, smiling in amusement at his students.

He walked to the front of the classroom, picking up a piece of chalk and beginning to write something on the chalkboard-- the room did have a SmartBoard, courtesy of the school board, but Mr. Finch wasn’t overly fond of technology and preferred to write the old-fashioned way. He stepped back, revealing the words ‘American Social Movements’.

“Over the past few weeks we’ve been discussing some of our country’s most well-known social movements-- the Civil Rights movement, the Women’s Rights movement, etc., and now, instead of a test, I want you and a partner to write a paper on an American Social Movement of your choice, whether it be one we’ve discussed in class or otherwise.” He explained, pacing the front of the room in that way he tended to do when he was lecturing. “I do, however, want to know by the end of the week what movement you’ve chosen. But for now, we’ll just choose partners.”

Dean looked around at his options and sighed in relief when he found Becky’s desk empty. He felt kind of bad for being grateful for her absence, as she wasn’t a particularly unkind person, just a little odd. He also, upon looking around, found that Lisa was also absent. She’d actually been gone for quite a while, which was weird, considering she was a straight A student.

“Rumor has it she’s pregnant,” A voice to his left said, and he turned to find himself face to face April Martin, school gossip. “Not sure if it’s true, but with how long she’s been gone, it’s not looking too good.”

“Be quiet, April,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t such a nosey bitch you’d actually have some friends.”

Something flashed in April’s eyes and she gave him a forced smile. "Friends are so overrated anyway.

"April Martin and Ruby Cortese,” Mr. Finch said, not looking up from his list.

April sighed, standing up from her desk and smoothing out the skirt of her short floral dress. “Guess that’s my cue.” She gave him a little wave and headed to the other side of the room where Ruby waited.

“Weird,” Dean said to himself, shaking it off and turning his attention back to the front just in time to hear his own name mentioned.

“Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester.”

 

 


	5. "Why Don't You Just Drop Dead?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean nodded like that made perfect sense. Then again, a house with eight people living in it should probably be expected to be pretty insane. “Okay, sure. So, my place. We could work on it after school if you want.”  
> “Great,” Cas said, sending his partner a small rare smile. What gave him a bit of pause, however, was the light blush spreading across Dean’s cheeks. “Uh, you okay, man?”  
> “Yeah, Cas, I’m fine,” Dean said, giving him what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, though he still seemed a bit off, fidgeting in his seat. “You just… I don’t see you smile a whole lot. It’s nice. The fact that you’re smiling, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken forever and a day (the last time I updated was freaking April, damn) for me to update. This one is slightly shorter than usual, but hopefully the introduction of a new character makes up for it. I'd suggest skimming through the last few chapters though, just to refresh your mind.

  _“Write me off, give up on me_

_'Cause darling, what did you expect?_

_I'm just off a lost cause_

_A long shot, don't even take this bet”_

**Fall Out Boy, A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More “Touch Me”**

 

To say Cas was shocked was one hell of an underestimation-- try astounded, confounded. His class was small, containing only about 12 students, but of all the people he’d expected to be paired off with, Dean Winchester was not one of them.

Cas wasn’t one for believing in fate or whatever because shit like that just didn’t happen in his experience. Life was random and unexpected, and there was no way of knowing what would happen from one minute to the next beyond just a guess based on common sense, but the whole staring across the room thing? That wasn’t common sense, it was pure coincidence. Yup, coincidence, and as for why Cas was still sitting, unresponsive in his seat, well, that’s irrelevant.

“Novak and Winchester,” Mr. Finch said, looking at Cas knowingly, nodding toward the blond boy on the other side of the room. “Go on, Castiel.”

Cas peaked a look over at his partner, who was sitting, waiting patiently and, of course, looking right at him. He sighed, gathering up his stuff and moving toward the other boy, who had yet to stop watching him. When he slid into the empty seat right beside him, he, without fully realizing what he was doing, said, “You know, while I usually view staring as a compliment, I think you’re taking it a bit far there, buddy.”

The other boy, green eyes wide with surprise, attempted a response, though he was promptly cut off by their teacher’s next pairing announcement. _Huh,_ Cas thought, drumming his pen against his notebook-- a nervous habit of his-- and blatantly ignoring the blond boy next to him, _Hannah and Cole. Now_ that’s _an interesting pair. I almost feel sorry for him._

The sound of someone’s throat clearing promptly snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned his attention to the other-- to _Dean_. Cas raised his eyebrows as if to ask what he wanted and why he felt the need to bother him. Dean narrowed his eyes, looking annoyed, but seemed willing to ignore it, if only to just ask his question. “So, how are we doing this? Your house or mine?”

 _Well, unless you wanna watch my mom shoot up or something._ “Yours,” Cas answered quickly but realized his mistake when Dean just looked at him with stunned bewilderment. “I mean, my house is a bit… hectic.”

Dean nodded like that made perfect sense. Then again, a house with eight people living in it should probably be expected to be pretty insane. “Okay, sure. So, my place. We could work on it after school if you want.”

“Great,” Cas said, sending his partner a small rare smile. What gave him a bit of pause, however, was the light blush spreading across Dean’s cheeks. “Uh, you okay, man?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine,” Dean said, giving him what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, though he still seemed a bit off, fidgeting in his seat. “You just… I don’t see you smile a whole lot. It’s nice. The fact that you’re smiling, that is.”

Cas wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. Dean and he had never really talked before that moment, so he found it a bit odd that the other boy was so easily tossing out compliments. But, then again, maybe it was just who he was, and it’s not like Cas knew him well enough to be able to tell.

“Thanks,” Cas said, finally, deciding to keep it simple. Why overcomplicate things? It wasn’t like they were friends now or anything. Cas was still the kid who lived in a crappy old trailer and Dean was still way too good to ever associate with him.

Dean seemed to have come to a similar conclusion as Cas, because his expression quickly morphed into one of cool professionalism, his pink-tinted cheeks long gone. “So, um,” Dean said, opening up his notebook to a fresh page and poising his hand to write, “Any ideas?”

Oh, right, the project. Cas had almost entirely forgotten why he was over here. He chose to blame it on Dean, who really had no right to be so nice and pretty and… fuck, he was screwed.

“What about the Stonewall Riots?” Cas offered. It was a bit different, and he was sure most people wouldn’t even think of it, instead favoring more well-known and talked about movements.

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes then, like recognition mixed with something that might’ve been fear. But what did he have to be afraid of?

“June 28, 1969-- NYC police raided the Stonewall Inn, which was notorious for its LGBT patrons,” Cas explained, wanting to spark some sort of a response out of his partner, who had continued to be silent. “The community protested, rather violently. These riots eventually led to the first Pride marches and--”

“Do we have to write about--” Dean looked around, like he didn’t want to be heard, then said hesitantly, “Gay stuff?” There was a pleading look in Dean’s eyes that surprised Cas at first, but soon that surprise began to heat up into annoyance.

Cas crossed his arms, looking at Dean with a raised eyebrow, “There something wrong with gay stuff?”

“No, no,” Dean said, eyes widened dramatically, which only served to make his brilliant green eyes that much more obvious. “I just… I kind of have a reputation to protect around here, and if people start questioning whether or not I’m straight--”

“Then they’re scumbags who shouldn’t be worth your time,” Cas said, firmly. “People like that aren’t worth impressing, Dean.”

“No? Well, my dad would disagree,” Dean scoffed, looking down. The expression on his face was hard to place, but if Cas had to hazard a guess, he’d say it were shame. “He’d fucking kill me if he found me messing around with what he’d consider ‘queer shit’. The old man might have moved out, but he still comes around like he lives there or something.”

Cas felt the anger begin to drain out of him, looking at how distressed the other boy was at the mere thought of what his father would do. But he understood, really, he did. His mother, despite being a useless druggie, was a devout Christian, and he’d heard the ‘evils of homosexuality’ speech enough times to know how Dean felt, the fear of being rejected by your own family. Only, Cas actually had to live it, given he was gay. Why, he wondered, did it bother Dean so much? He didn’t feel it was his place to ask, though. Too personal.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, not quite sure how to go about this. He felt bad, but really, what else could he say short of telling his whole life story? “I get it.”

“Do you?” Dean asked, not looking convinced, “Because you seem pretty cool with all of this.”

“Yes, I do,” Cas said, but didn’t give anything else in terms of reassurance. Dean didn’t need to know all about his shitty life. Their partnership was only temporary, so why bother? “How about this, we do this topic and work on it at your house, but we put it away whenever your father is around, okay? There isn’t anyone else that will be a problem, is there?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. I mean, my mom’s totally cool with it, Sheriff Mills and her wife Donna are actually good friends with my mom. And Sammy, well,” Dean said, but hesitated a little at the mention of his brother, “He’s all social justice-y, trying to make the world a better place one rescued puppy at a time and all, so I doubt he’ll care.”

“Great,” Cas said, happy that things had been sorted out. “So it’s settled. We’ll meet at your house after school.”

“Okay,” Dean said, though he still seemed a bit worried, “So after school?”

Cas nodded, “I could meet you at your house if you just give me your address.”

Dean looked at him funny, shaking his head, “Dude, there’s no way I’m making you walk seven blocks to my house when I have a car. You’ll ride home with Sammy and me.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asked, feeling guilt course through him at the thought of someone doing this for him, giving him a ride when they were under no obligation to do anything for him at all. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel about it, and was tempted to say no thank you, he’d be fine walking when Mr. Finch spoke again.

“I’m giving you a month to work on this assignment,” Mr. Finch explained, his eyes scanning the room to ensure that each student understood exactly how this was going to work, “So that means I want it on my desk by the time we leave for Thanksgiving Break.”

“Damn,” Cas heard Dean mutter to himself, and despite himself, felt a bit stung by the word.

“Sorry that being stuck with me for a whole month is such an inconvenience to you,” Cas all but growled, narrowing his eyes at the other boy, who simply stared at him with wide eyes.

“No, no, that’s not it, really,” Dean said, for some reason unknown to Cas, sounding like he really cared that Cas not think that, “I just have work most days and I need the money so, well, missing won’t really be much of an option.”

Cas felt himself deflate a little, knowing what it was like to be tight on money. But Dean lived on the right side of town, probably in a nice big house with a pristine front lawn, so why was money an issue for him? Cas kept that question to himself, though, because even being a piece of trailer trash, he still had manners.

“I apologize,” Cas said, though he refused to look at him when he said it. It didn’t quite sit right with him, apologizing to someone like Dean Winchester. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Thankfully, before either one of them was forced to suffer through some share-and-care session, the bell rang, freeing them.

“So meet me at my car after school?” Dean asked. He was looking at Cas like it actually mattered to him, his green eyes wide and bright, hopeful. Cas, being the weak-willed individual he clearly was, couldn’t bring himself to deny him, nodding his agreement. Dean smiled, making Cas feel a spark of happiness at doing something to put that beautiful smile on his face.

As Cas left the room, on his way to English, he tried to shake off the feelings that Dean’s smile had brought on.

This was going to be a _very_ long month.

 

 

Pulling up to yet another new home, the second one this year, actually, Dorothy willed her nerves down. And why should she be nervous? She’d been through this enough times that it should be simple, but it wasn’t. She wondered if it ever would be.

“Ready?” asked Pamela, her caseworker, placing a comforting hand on Dorothy’s shoulder.

Pamela James had been in her life ever since she’d come into the system six years ago, starting the day after the accident when she had picked up a shaken and silent Dorothy from the hospital. They were close, like family, and it helped a lot knowing that she was there with her.

Dorothy nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure that she was. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, climbing out of the car with her backpack over her shoulder, heading for the door, Jody following close behind.

“Now, remember what we talked about, Dorothy,” Pam said, her tone just as much a reminder as it was a warning. “You’re seventeen now. You have one year left in the system-- that’s one year that could either make or break your future. I don’t want to get any calls about you skipping school or causing any trouble, capiche?”

“Yup,” Dorothy said carelessly, having heard basically the same thing on the long drive from Topeka to Lawrence. “No trouble got it.”

Pam sighed, but continued on, “Now, there are four other kids living here, two foster kids, like you, one adopted, and one biological.”

“A real collection,” Dorothy murmured to herself, though Pam heard it and frowned, but didn’t comment on it, “So, names? Don’t wanna go messing that up and insulting anyone.”

“I’m sure they’ll introduce themselves over dinner,” Pam said when they reached the door. It was a bright yellow, cheerful and fun to many, but disgusting to someone like Dorothy. Yellow had never sat well with her. She rang the bell, and the two of them waited. “But your foster parents are old friends of mine, from when I was in college. They’re names are Becky and Chuck.”

“Huh,” Dorothy said, smirking over at her social worker, “Boss know you’re doing favors for friends?”

Pam narrowed her eyes, but before she could retort, the hideous door opened, and they were met by a woman with curly blonde hair and a wide smile spread on her face. Before either one of them could open their mouths, this woman let out a squeak and enveloped Pam in a bone-crushing embrace. Dorothy fought to contain her laughter.

“Pam, it’s been so long!” The woman, Becky, she supposed, said, pulling back and holding onto her old friends’ shoulders. “I haven’t seen you since graduation. You remember the party at Alice’s afterward? I’d never seen you so plast--”

“Becky!” Another slightly exasperated voice cut in, and a man, about the same age as the other two adults, though he was shorter than either one of them, appeared next to Becky in the doorway. He sounded and looked exhausted like he could drop unconscious at any moment, but the mug in his hand was a sign of trying to fight that. His gaze went from Pam, who he said a quick hello to, to Dorothy when it turned warm and welcoming like he was truly happy to see her. He placed a hand on Becky’s arm, murmuring, “Not in front of Dorothy, dear. We don’t want her thinking we’re lunatics or something.”

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. This was a first, a foster parent actually trying to be on their best behavior when they met her. Usually, it was sort of a “what-you-see-is-what-you-get” deal, but this was different.

Becky blushed, nodding in agreement with her husband’s words. She looked over at Dorothy and smiled softly, an apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dorothy, I promise, I’m usually much more… collected.”

Dorothy shrugged, “I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Chuck and Becky exchanged a look that Dorothy couldn’t read into, before turning back to them. Becky’s eyes lit up with realization, and suddenly they were being welcomed into a warm foyer, freeing them from the chill of the early October air outside.

“The kids should be home soon. I think you’ll like them.” Chuck said as he hung up Dorothy and Pamela’s coats on a coat rack near the door.

“What are their names?” Dorothy asked, curious about the people she’d be living amongst, at least for now, until the Shurley’s decided they had had enough.

“Well, we have four children,” Chuck said happily, smiling and sounding as if he truly looked at the children under his care as his own flesh and blood. Dorothy wasn’t sure what to make of that. Normally people were only foster parents for the money, not because they gave a shit about the kids. “We have Charlie, Jesse, and the twins, Andy, and Ava. Actually, Charlie’s about your age. You’ll be in the same grade too.”

“Oh?” Dorothy asked, her interest piqued, “And what’s he like?”

Chuck laughed at that, though Dorothy wasn’t quite sure why, until he told her, “Hon, Charlie’s a girl.”

“Oh,” Dorothy said, feeling quite stupid all of a sudden. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Becky added, placing a hand on Dorothy’s arm. “A lot of people make that mistake. It’s fine.”

“You’ll also be sharing a room with Charlie,” Chuck told her, hesitantly, like he had something he felt sorry for, “I wish we had the space to give you a room of your own, but since we had Jesse, space has been a little tight. I promise the room is plenty big, though.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, won’t it, Dorothy?” Jody said, glancing at Dorothy pointedly.

“Of course,” Dorothy said, smiling kindly, “I’m used to sharing rooms. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Great!” Becky said happily, “Now, why don’t we get you settled upstairs. I’m sure by the time we’re done, the others will be home. Charlie seemed very anxious to meet you.”

Dorothy was skeptical of that, but she nodded anyway, heading toward the stairs after Becky, her backpack over her shoulder. She glanced back at Pam, who nodded at her, a sign that meant she wasn’t leaving, that she’d be here when she came back. It gave Dorothy some comfort, soothing her tension.

But of course, she would eventually leave, and Dorothy would have to navigate this new home all on her own, like usual. She was used to it, though. This wasn’t her first rodeo, and she highly doubted it’d be her last either.

 


	6. I'll Be Your Best Kept Secret And Your Biggest Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not normal? Dean Winchester was the epitome of high school stereotypes for a popular male- he was classically handsome, friendly, and funny. On top of that, he was also pretty smart, though most people didn’t even take that into consideration, deciding that his other positive qualities were good enough on their own. It was a shame, really.  
> “Speaking as someone who is, in fact, a freak, you’re pretty normal,” Cas told him, staring out through the windshield so Dean hopefully wouldn’t see the blush coloring his cheeks.  
> “And as someone who gets entirely too much attention from the student body,” Dean said, laughing, though there was an out of place look of exhaustion on his face, “For no real reason, I might add, you’re not so bad yourself, Novak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry this has taken so long. I just started my freshman year of college and I haven't really had much time for writing the past few weeks, although I really wanted to. Like, you guys have no idea how much I enjoy writing this story since it's pretty much the only non-stressful part of my life right now. But unfortunately, homework and essays and all that jazz are taking priority right now. I've been working on this chapter little by little ever since I last updated, but a few nights ago inspiration struck and, well, here we are with a new chapter.  
> Also, I wanted to announce that I have a new beta reader (my previous one got too busy), so hopefully there'll be an improvement in my grammar and spelling. Unfortunately, though, this is the unbetaed version. I will be posting the betaed version as soon as it gets back to me, but I felt really bad about making you guys wait even longer for a chapter.
> 
> Oh, and before you read the chapter and get confused, CHOP is what people around here (Philadelphia) call the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. I'm not sure what they would call it anywhere else or if it's even something people know about outside of this area. Either way, just me inserting my experience as someone who lives right near Philly.

_“I'll keep my jealousy close,_  
_'Cause it's all mine._  
_And if you say this makes you happy,_  
_then I'm not the only one lying.”_

**Fall Out Boy, Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner**

The room Dorothy was to be staying in was much bigger than any other she’d lived in before, able to fit two twin beds, a desk, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a TV, which had a gaming system hooked up to it. Actually, there seemed to be quite a lot of gaming systems in that little corner where the TV was, but as she wasn’t very familiar with video games, she couldn’t say which ones they were. That, however, confirmed something for her-- these people were pretty well off. To be able to care this well for four, now five, kids, one would need a decent income. She wondered but knew better than to ask about their jobs. She was sure she’d find it out eventually.

“How about these sheets?” Becky asked, having come into the room with an armful of pastel purple sheets, placing them on the unmade bed. “They’re jersey material.”

Dorothy ran a hand over the material. They felt like a soft t-shirt and were probably the most comfortable sheets she’d ever felt. Then again, these people had much more money than any of the other foster family’s she’d had, so that shouldn’t be very shocking.

“I like them,” Dorothy said, not wanting to let on the fact that she was so out of her element here, that she was just another poor deprived foster kid. When Becky went to make the bed, Dorothy stopped her, placing a hand on her arm, “I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” Becky said, surprised. She nodded, though, stepping back to let Dorothy get to the bed. “Thank you, dear. I’ll just go and get you a comforter, okay?”

Dorothy said okay, and Becky disappeared once more, leaving her alone, making the bed. This was something she was used to, doing things for herself. Part of being a foster kid was depending on yourself for almost everything, knowing that you were really the only one you  _could_  fully depend on. Some habits were hard to break.

“Hey, Char--, ” An unfamiliar voice said from behind her. Dorothy turned away from what she was doing, finding a girl standing in the doorway. She was maybe fourteen and looked a bit confused. “Who are you?”

“Ah, Ava,” Becky said nervously, reappearing behind the girl, Ava, apparently, and moving around her to stand next to Dorothy. She placed the comforter in her arms down on the bed and turned to face the other girl, gesturing toward Dorothy. “This is Dorothy. We’ll be fostering her.”

There was no “ _for now”_  or  _“until ___”_  tacked onto her words, but Dorothy knew that was what she meant. Foster kids tended to be temporary, at least in her experience. She was probably looking at a month or so here, then she’d be off to her next home.

Ava, who Dorothy quickly decided was obviously a spoiled little brat, rolled her eyes and sighed, “ _Another_  one?”

“Ava,” Becky said, a warning tone in her voice though it didn’t seem to faze Ava at all, “That was rude. Don’t you dare make Dorothy feel unwelcome here, this is her home too now, not just yours.”

Ava huffed, but let it go, instead asking, “Where’s Charlie? I’m sure she’ll just  _love_  this.”

“You know Charlie isn’t like that, Ava,” Becky said firmly, glancing over her shoulder and giving Dorothy a reassuring smile, “She knows what it’s like, and honestly, so do you and your brother. I want you to apologize,  _now_.”

Ava glanced at her for a moment but refused to meet her eyes when she mumbled a weak apology. Becky raised an eyebrow as if asking if that was the best she could manage, which caused the younger girl to groan a little, but still, she met Dorothy’s eyes, saying in a monotone voice, “Sorry.”

Becky sighed, still not sounding quite satisfied. “Charlie should be home from soccer soon, then we’ll have dinner. For now, though, go and work on your homework.” Still pouting, Ava disappeared, and a few minutes later, a door slammed shut. Becky rolled her eyes but didn’t comment on it, instead focusing her attention back on Dorothy. “Anyway,   I went out today and bought you these,” She said, gesturing toward the bundle on the bed.

The comforter had a white and aqua blue chevron pattern on it and was soft to the touch. It didn’t feel too light or too thick, but right in the middle. Though it was a bit too loud for her tastes, she thought it was a nice gesture. Usually, she was lucky to get hand-me-downs, but in this case, her foster family had actually gone out of their way for her. This was truly a first.

“Thank you, Becky,” Dorothy said, smiling at her foster mother. “Really, you didn’t have to do this.”

Becky waved her off like it was nothing, returning her smile. “It’s no trouble, dear. We want you to be comfortable here.”

Dorothy wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she remained silent, running her hand over the soft material of her new comforter.

After a moment or two of silence on both of their parts, Becky cleared her throat and fixed her shirt, although the green button down wasn’t messed up in the slightest. “I guess I’ll leave you to unpack. Charlie cleared the dresser over there for you, so you can put your clothes away.” Becky then smiled in amusement, “I’d better go and check that my husband isn’t making too big of a mess. He tends to do that on chili night.”

And with that, Dorothy was left alone once again. Only, this time, she had a lot to think about. Her new foster family seemed nice, really, but she knew better than to get attached. She was sure she’d be in another home within a month, so she shouldn’t get too used to this kind of treatment.

It was only temporary, after all

 

 

Waiting by what was hands-down the most recognizable car in town was nerve wracking. It had only been five minutes since Castiel had arrived at the vehicle, and already he felt like the entirety of Garrison High was staring at him. Here he was, some good-for-nothing piece of trailer trash, waiting to work on a project with Dean Winchester, the mostly straight-laced boy from the nice side of town-- what a joke.

Cas heard someone clear their throat and turned to find Dean just a few feet behind him, looking a bit nervous, much like how Cas himself felt, hands shoved in his pockets and his bottom lip between his teeth. Dean, after a moment, looked up and met his eyes, and all traces of that nervousness from before was suddenly gone, replaced with an easy-going smile.

“You ready?” Dean asked, moving to the driver’s side, which was apparently left unlocked, as he just opened it and climbed right in. “Come on, it’s unlocked.”

“You do realize how many people in this town have their eye on this car, right? If even just for what it’s worth,” Cas told him, settling onto the leather bench seat and buckling his seatbelt. “You should really consider locking it.”

“Eh,” Dean said, shrugging as he turned the key, starting up the car, “It’s a small town, so I doubt anyone would be dumb enough to steal a car here, especially one as rare as Baby.”

“Baby?” Cas asked, his voice cracking from the effort toward trying not to laugh. Dean had been kind thus far, and he didn’t want to give the other boy a reason to stop being nice. Even a punk like Cas knew that pissing people off, especially those so far above him on the social hierarchy, would only come back to bite him in the ass later on. Better to keep them happy instead.

“Yup,” Dean said, giving him a look that said he knew exactly what Cas was thinking, and patting the steering wheel, “That’s her name, don’t wear it out.”

“That’s a very… interesting choice of name, Dean,” Cas said, nodding his head like he was thoroughly interested.

Dean let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle though Cas couldn’t quite imagine what he found so funny.

“It’s kind of weird, I guess,” Dean said, a small smile on his lips as he met Cas’ eyes, shrugging, “I never claimed to be all that normal, though.”

 _Not normal?_  Dean Winchester was the epitome of high school stereotypes for a popular male-- he was classically handsome, friendly, and funny. On top of that, he was also pretty smart, though most people didn’t even take that into consideration, deciding that his other positive qualities were good enough on their own. It was a shame, really.

“Speaking as someone who is, in fact, a freak, you’re pretty normal,” Cas told him, staring out through the windshield so Dean hopefully wouldn’t see the blush coloring his cheeks.

“And as someone who gets  _entirely_  too much attention from the student body,” Dean said, laughing, though there was an out of place look of exhaustion on his face, “For no real reason, I might add, you’re not so bad yourself, Novak.”

“Really?” Cas asked, not quite believing it. “I mean, most people treat me like one.”

“Most people are idiots, then,” Dean said, his voice firm and unwavering, though almost immediately after saying it, he froze momentarily, then quickly changed the subject, “Anyway, you ready to go and get this show on the road?”

“I suppose so,” Cas said, not quite sure how to react to what just happened. He chose not to think too far into it, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it. It wasn’t like Dean actually cared about him. Hell, he barely even  _knew_  him.

After a short ride, maybe five minutes, give or take, they arrived at a large paneled home, painted a pretty light blue. It was two stories tall with a wraparound porch, a garden that, while currently dying from the lack of a warm climate, was likely very beautiful in the summertime, and, on the side of the house, in an ancient looking oak, a treehouse. Compared to the Novak’s rusty old trailer, the Winchester’s home was practically a castle.

“Nice house,” Cas said, trying to keep the jealousy from invading his voice. Thankfully, even if it was there, Dean didn’t seem to notice or simply chose not to comment on it, likely wanting to avoid the ‘I’m-poor-and-you’re-not’ talk that would most likely be the result.

“I guess,” Dean said dismissively like he couldn’t have cared less. Something about that reaction sparked anger in Cas, making him clench his fists tight. Having grown up in a shitty trailer park and watching Michael and Hester desperately scrape together money to pay for food and rent, he grew up with a healthy respect for money, and to see Dean react this way… it bothered him, a lot.

After a moment of awkward silence, Dean finally shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced hesitantly over at Cas, who was still seething with anger, though he fought not to make it obvious. If Dean’s current behavior was any indication, though, it clearly wasn’t working very well.

“So, um, do you want to head inside and get started?” Dean asked, the slight change his voice giving away his nerves.

Cas sighed, deciding to let it go. It wasn’t important, really, and it wasn’t Dean’s fault that he grew up the way he did. He didn’t ask for the life he was given any more than Cas did.

“Okay,” Cas said, getting out of the car and hefting his heavy backpack up from the floor of the Impala. Dean soon did the same, and they found themselves walking up the driveway to the front door. One thing Cas noticed was that Dean’s was the only car in the driveway. “No one else is here?”

“Huh,” Dean said, glancing over to the empty driveway, like it hadn’t even come to his attention until then, “Mom must have got called in early for work.”

“Early?” Cas asked, wondering how exactly four o’clock in the afternoon could be considered early. Even his own brother, who worked ten-hour shifts over at Singer’s Auto, came home around this time. “I’m guessing this is the norm for you guys?”

Dean shrugged, digging around in his pockets for what Cas assumed were his keys. “I mean, I guess,” he said, pulling the keys out and sorting through them for the correct one, “She’s a nurse over at CHOP. She usually works the afternoon and some of the night shift, but, like I said, they sometimes call her in early. She’s too nice to say no, and especially not when it comes to those kids.”

That information earned the Winchester matriarch a decent amount of respect from Cas, although he knew very little about the woman. Everything he had ever heard about Mary Winchester, although he hadn’t heard much, was positive. Well, except for that little bit about her husband, though that couldn’t really be blamed on her. “That’s noble work. I’m sure the children there appreciate it very much.”

Dean gave him an odd look, one that was close to a glare, “Most of those kids are dyin’, Cas, slow and painful,” he said, “There ain’t nothing noble about watching someone suffer”, then he swung the door open and left the other boy in the dust behind him.

 

 

After unpacking what few belongings she did have, Dorothy settled down on her bed, not quite sure what to do. She wasn’t even sure what she was even allowed to do, having lived in homes where the foster parents practically kept her cooped up in her room. Were the Shurley’s like that? She didn’t want to risk anything by testing the waters- not when she’d just arrived that day.

Instead, she decided to do an innocent, non-invasive tour of her new space. She always kept a sort of code of honor when it came to staying in someone’s home. She would never go through their personal belongings, and she would never take anything without asking for explicit permission. Following those rules had probably saved her ass more than she knew. She had heard so many horror stories about foster kids getting tossed in group homes for ‘stealing’, and she had absolutely no interest in putting herself through that.

First, she decided a quick look under the bed was in order, so she kneeled down and brought her face down to see below. There were a few medium-sized sealed boxes, but not much else. Standing back up, she did a visual sweep of the room, trying to find something else of interest. The room consisted of two twin beds, a dresser, a closet, a TV, and a desk. On that desk sat three large flat screen Mac monitors, all angled toward the black leather computer chair that sat before it, as well as a closed silver MacBook. But that wasn’t even the most impressive thing in the room. No, that honor was held by the assortment of video game systems in the corner of the room, hooked up to a large flat screen TV-- this ‘Charlie’ character seemed to own an abundance of gaming consoles. Dorothy herself wasn’t a huge fan of gaming, having never really had the opportunity to play them growing up, aside from the one time that her ex-foster brother Ephraim had allowed her to play GameCube with him when he was home sick with a cold, but even she could see how impressive the collection was.

“You like video games?” Dorothy heard, and was immediately startled into taking a step back, away from the consoles. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, but then again, her focus had been on exploring, not watching the door for new arrivals. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dorothy turned around and was met with the sight of a girl about her age with shoulder length red hair and what looked to be hazel eyes. She was smiling uncertainly, tugging on the sleeve of the flannel shirt she wore and alternating her gaze between Dorothy and the carpet.

“It’s fine, really,” Dorothy said, finally breaking the silence that had persisted after the other girl’s apology. “I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

The other girl looked confused, tilting her head to the side. “You’re Dorothy, right?”

Dorothy nodded, not quite seeing where this was going. “Yes, why?”

The redhead smiled warmly, chuckling a little, “Then you aren’t snooping, silly. This is  _our_  room now, as in both of ours. You’re more than welcome to look around.”

Dorothy was a bit taken aback by that, but she stammered out, “I-- um, thank you…?”

“Charlie, Charlie Bradbury,” The other girl, Charlie, said as she reached out her hand, presumably, for Dorothy to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Dorothy Baum,” she told her, accepting the handshake. The other girl’s hands were cold like she’d just been out in the bitter cold with no gloves, and her fingernails were painted a bright blue though they were chipping from age. “So which one are you?”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “What do you mean, ‘which one am I’?”

It dawned on Dorothy that maybe that wasn’t the best way to approach the subject, especially when she’d just met this girl. Who was she to go questioning this girl? “My social worker Jody told me that one of the kids was adopted, two fostered, and one was Becky and Chuck’s biological kid. I was wondering which one you were,” Dorothy looked down, feeling embarrassed by what she’d said, “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business, really.”

“No, no, it’s totally fine,” Charlie said, brushing it off like it was no big deal, though she was blushing bright red to match her hair, “I, um, I’m the adopted one, Jesse is three and he’s their biological son, and then there are the twins-- Andy and Ava.”

“Awesome,” Dorothy said, not quite sure what else to say in response to that. Did she congratulate her or something?

Clearly not wanting to continue in the awkward silence that had persisted between them, Charlie moved over to where her consoles were, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She looked over her shoulder at Dorothy, nodding toward the consoles, inviting her over.

Dorothy settled down next to the redhead, not entirely sure what to expect, but not sure she really minded, though. She watched as the other girl pulled over a decently sized box that Dorothy hadn’t noticed before, opening it and leaning over it in such a way that Dorothy feared she would fall in and hurt herself, while she looked for whatever it was she needed from it.

“Aha!” Charlie shouted, leaning back with a small video game case in her hands that she held up triumphantly, “I knew I still had it.”

“Zelda?” Dorothy questioned, studying the front cover of the old game. “I’ve heard of that, I think.”

Charlie’s eyebrows went up at that, “You think?” she asked, her voice taking on a disbelieving tone like it was truly astonishing. “How the hell… dude, you’ve gotta be kidding me here.”

Dorothy shrugged, not quite seeing what the big deal was, “Being bounced from home to home every few weeks never really left much time for games.”

Charlie’s eyes softened at that, but she smirked at Dorothy though it seemed a bit hollow, “Yet somehow I did it, and I’d been in 11 different homes in 6 years.”

“Damn, and here I thought my record was bad,” Dorothy said, only to realize what she just said, “Not to say you’re a bad kid or anything, just--”

Charlie waved it off, suddenly looking a bit distracted, “My record could probably be better. I’m really lucky the Shurley’s found me when they did. I don’t know what would have happened if I was still with--” She stopped, her lips pressed together hard.

Dorothy knew what it was like to go through shit, so she decided to cut her a break, ignoring what she said in favor of focusing her attention on the gaming consoles before them. “So, ah, what do we play it on?”

“Oh, right,” Charlie said casually though her eyes held a silent ‘thank you’ when they met Dorothy’s, “We play it on the GameCube.”

“So that one?” Dorothy asked, gesturing toward the only vaguely cube-like shaped console. It was a subtle gold that one could only really recognize if they were paying close attention. A quick glance would easily cause one to mistake it for silver.

“Yup,” Charlie said, smiling brightly at Dorothy over her shoulder, a sight that stunned the brunette a bit. It was so warm and happy, and Dorothy, though she couldn’t quite say why, wanted to keep that smile on the other girl’s face for as long as she could. The redhead, after apparently having spent the last few minutes setting up the GameCube, smirked at Dorothy, a challenge in her hazel eyes, “You ready to learn from the master, Baum?”

“Uh, sure?” Dorothy said, unsure of what she could really say to that. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” Charlie exclaimed, handing her one of the matching gold controllers.

For the first time in a while, Dorothy truly enjoyed herself. An afternoon of playing video games with a friend was once a foreign concept to her, but now, well, maybe this was something she could have, at least for a little while, until the Shurley’s inevitably got sick of her. But she’d be damned if she didn’t take advantage of this while she still could.

 


	7. Tip Your Glasses to No Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sputtered, his green eyes wide and bewildered, and he choked out a weak, “I’m not pining after him. I’m not even gay!”  
> Charlie hummed at that, smiling sympathetically at her friend, “Sweetie, I’ve gotta agree with Jo here. You look at that boy all the time.”  
> “Did you happen to not hear the part where I said I’m not fucking gay?!” Dean asked, stubbornly crossing his arms and glaring at the two girls, who had seemingly ganged up on him. Dorothy almost felt bad, but she had the feeling that Charlie wouldn’t be pushing him if there wasn’t some truth to her words.
> 
> Finally updating after like a billion years. I'll hopefully be back to my "regular" (because even I know I have no real schedule) updates. The next one I'm updating will be RWYWM and maybe a drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We'll all take turns, but not for the worst  
> We're all has-beens and never-weres  
> And we're all in the back singing "Roxanne"  
> Just watching life pass us by, pass us by”  
> \- The World's Not Waiting (For Five Tired Boys in a Broken Down Van) by Fall Out Boy

The inside of the Winchester home was just as nice as one would expect from the outside, the kind of house one would expect a respectable middle-class family to own—hardwood floors, leather furniture, a big flat screen TV. The house made the Novak’s trailer—with its shabby once cream-colored carpeting, second-hand furniture, and paneled walls—look like absolute shit. The only thing in their trailer that wasn’t second-hand or crappy was their TV, a thirty-two inch flat screen that Gabriel had brought home one day, having offered no explanation as to how he got it.

But even with their “nice” TV, the Winchester’s home was the type of home for decent people, whereas people like Cas, scumbags, lived in trailers like the Novak’s.

“Cas?” Dean said, prompting Cas to break out of his daze and turn his attention back to the other boy, who was now standing by the stairs leading to the second floor in the living room. The other boy studied him curiously but said nothing about him zoning out, though Cas could tell that he wanted to ask. “I asked if you wanted to work in the living room or up in my room. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Um, either is okay with me,” Cas said a bit awkwardly, feeling weird that he’d been caught admiring the other boy’s home and like he’d only made it that much more obvious that his own home was nothing like this.

“Okay well, we can work upstairs, I guess. It’ll probably be a lot quieter, especially once Sammy and his little study group get here,” Dean said, and Cas saw a fond smile forming on the other boy’s lips at the mention of his younger brother. Dean’s smile faded away when he caught Cas looking, though, and he averted his eyes and cleared his throat, then started upstairs.

Cas followed close behind, though his attention was caught by the pictures that adorned the walls on the way upstairs. First was a picture of what he recognized to be a young Dean, maybe about five or six years old. He had the short spiky hair that just about every little boy (excluding him, with his longish messy hair) had back then, a striped polo, and he had a big smile that lit up his whole face and made his green eyes crinkle. The next picture was another happy-looking little boy who looked about two or three, with shaggy brown hair and big hazel eyes. The boy was also pointing at something over to the left and smiling wide, his tiny baby teeth on display and his chubby cheeks a rosy red. The last picture was of the two boys with a blonde woman and a dark-haired man—their parents, he assumed. The woman, Cas noticed, had the same bright green eyes as Dean did, along with the same spattering of freckles across her nose. The man, on the other hand, didn’t resemble Dean quite as much. The only obvious similarity Cas could pick up on was the shape of their noses.

Cas heard a stair creak beneath the weight of the other boy, who must have come back to see what he was doing. When Cas looked back at him, Dean’s eyes were trained fondly on the picture on the wall. “That’s Sammy and my mom and—” Dean cleared his throat before saying, awkwardly, “And uh, my dad.”

Cas refused to ask what happened to make Dean react that way, like just the mention of his own father made him uncomfortable, but he knew it wasn't really any of his business. Dean must have noticed his silence, though, because he bit his lip like he was trying to make a decision.

 

“We, um, just don’t really talk anymore,” Dean explained, looking uncomfortable with the subject of conversation, but for some reason, he continued to talk anyway. “He and my mom got divorced. He’s remarried now.”

The sheer amount of bitterness in Dean’s tone surprised Cas, who had up until that moment believed that the other boy’s life was basically perfect, but the betrayal written all over Dean’s face quickly discredited his premature assumption.

The two boys stood there in silence for a few moments, both lost in their own thoughts. If Cas had to guess, he’d say Dean’s thoughts were with his father, while Cas’ own were on the boy next to him, who maybe wasn’t so perfect after all.

“Okay well, you ready to get to work?” Dean asked with a pleasant smile on his face, though his eyes told another story entirely.

What Cas saw when he looked at Dean was a boy who had pulled a pretty short straw in life, but was fighting his way through it regardless, and despite his original opinion of Dean Winchester, he found himself simultaneously respecting and sympathizing with him.

“Yeah,” Cas said, casually nodding his head in agreement like the other boy hadn’t just spilled his guts to him, a virtual stranger. He decided to change the topic, drawing the attention away from the awkwardness that had begun to permeate the air between them. “So um, we’re going upstairs I guess?”

Dean’s shoulders dropped slightly in relief, and had Cas not already been looking at him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed, it was so slight. It was clear to him that this story was not one meant for the likes of him, the strange boy he was meant to do a project with and then never have to speak to again.

“Follow me,” Dean said over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs to the second floor of the house. When they reached the top, Dean turned left and headed for the door at the end of the hall, opening it and disappearing inside. “It’s not exactly at its cleanest but it ain’t filthy either, so I hope you don’t mind.”

Cas expected to walk in to find some sort of mess, but when he entered Dean’s room, it was nearly spotless, aside from an old glass of water sitting on Dean’s desk, which itself was slightly cluttered, and a few folded articles of clothing on the bed. Dean picked up the clothing, placing it, without looking at what it was, in a drawer in his dresser, probably to be dealt with later.

When Cas looked at Dean, he was slightly surprised to find the boy already looking at him, as if waiting for something.

“This is what you call messy?” Cas asked, giving the boy a small smile. “You definitely wouldn’t want to see my room then; given I share it with two of my brothers.”

“Oh god, _two_?” Dean said, looking and sounding astonished, this green eyes wide. “I couldn’t even imagine sharing with one. Sammy and I would probably kill each other. Believe me, I love that kid to pieces, but he’s a total slob and I’d kill him within a day.”

Cas chuckled. Looking around Dean’s nearly perfect room, he honestly wasn’t surprised to hear that. “Yeah well, small trailer. The only one who has their own room is Michael. The rest of us share with someone.”

“What about your parents?” Dean asked, and Cas tensed at the mention of his mother.

“My mom isn’t really there a lot and my father is deceased,” Cas said simply, not wanting to dive too far into his family.

There was too much shame in talking about that. He knew what they were a fucked up family, and he accepted it to some extent, mostly because he had to, but he didn’t like being reminded of how awful his life was. If he didn’t talk about it, he could remain blissfully ignorant, which, according to Meg, wasn’t a healthy mindset. Given that her life wasn’t exactly any better than his, he supposed she was right, but for now, it worked, and he’d keep it up until the day it stopped.

“Oh,” Dean reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, a habit Cas recognized as one of nervousness. “I’m sorry about your dad. Guess that’s why you asked about mine, huh?”

Cas nodded, looking down at the hardwood floor to avoid Dean’s gaze, which was probably sympathetic and that’s the last thing Cas wanted to see. He didn’t need Winchester’s or anyone else’s pity.

“Okay well, how are we gonna do this? Do you have a laptop or something? That way we can do all this through Google docs and we’ll both be able to edit it,” Dean said, picking up his own laptop, a black Lenovo with a mish-mash of different stickers on the outside, from where it rested at the end of his bed and opening it, then pressing the on button and setting it aside to let it boot up, meanwhile Castiel felt his face burning up from embarrassment. “Cas?”

“I uh, my family doesn’t own a computer, laptop or otherwise,” Cas said, looking down so he wouldn’t have to meet the other boy’s eyes.

“Do you have a smartphone or maybe a tablet?” Dean asked, though if the awkward silence that followed meant anything, he was probably beginning to regret saying anything.

Castiel, meanwhile, felt like absolute shit. Now, with friends like his—basically just Meg and maybe Gabe, if brothers counted—he never really had to worry about feeling bad about the things he didn’t have. Sure, they didn’t have a computer and Castiel’s family could only afford to pay for him, Gabe, Anna, Michael, and Rachel to have phones, basic flip-phones at that, but he’d never really felt bad about it before like he did when admitting it to Dean. To Cas, it felt almost like admitting what a piece of shit he was. Like, what family couldn’t afford even a single family laptop?

Cas didn’t say anything for a few moments and eventually Dean stood up and excused himself. Castiel tilted his head in confusion at his project partner as he left the room, turning right. Cas heard another door opening and then seconds later heard it shut again.

When he came back, it was with another laptop in hand. It was a similar one to Dean’s, only this one was free of any stickers.

“Here, you can use Sammy’s. I doubt he’ll mind, especially since it’s for a school project,” Dean said, handing the laptop over to Cas, who took it silently, though he just placed it on his lap without opening it. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and when he looked up, he was met with a forest of green, full of kindness and understanding, which only served to make Cas feel worse. “You don’t have to feel bad about not having a laptop. I mean, I guess I don’t understand your exact situation very well myself, but since it’s just our mom now, money hasn’t exactly been flowing very steadily around here.”

“I thought your mother was a nurse, though?” Castiel asked curiously, and it only occurred to him after the words had left his mouth that it wasn’t actually any of his business.

“Well yeah, and that’s fine in general, but with the divorce and everything, things haven’t been so great lately,” Dean answered surprisingly without hesitance. Maybe he thought that he owed Cas an explanation of some sort for calling him out on being poor. Dean sighed, “Like I said, I don’t understand your exact situation, but I understand being kind of tight on money. It’s not the same and I won’t even try to pretend they are, but either way, I’m not going to judge you for what you don’t have.”

Cas studied the boy before him, looking for even a bit of dishonesty in Dean’s expression. When he found none, he murmured a thank you, then opened up the laptop and turned it on. Dean walked him through everything, telling him Sam’s password and helping him to create a Google account so they could work on the site he’d called Google docs.

All the while, it didn’t even occur to Cas that just a few hours ago, he and Dean were practically strangers. If he didn’t know better, and he liked to think he did, he’d have even called them friends. But this was a project, and projects were temporary. After they finished this project, it was likely that he and Dean probably wouldn’t even speak to each other again, but yet, Cas told Dean more about himself in just three hours of working on their project than most people at their school had come to know in the last three years.

Cas almost wished that meant something.

 

 

Gabriel was determined to get over Sam. He’d seen Sam in the days following his talk with Cas, but he’d forced himself, painfully so, to remain strictly professional. He’d stayed focused on teaching Sam the ins and outs of basic baking and customer service, but he’d kept the jokes to a minimum and took the flirting entirely out of the equation. Sam had clearly taken notice if the way he’d suddenly become much more reserved said anything, and while Gabriel felt bad for making the boy feel like he suddenly didn’t like him, he knew it was better this way. Maybe once he had a better handle on his feelings, he’d be able to be friends with the boy, but right now he just needed space to move on.

This worked well for all of about an hour before finally blowing up in Gabe’s face when Sam stormed up to him, right after he’d given a short response to a question of his, a look of rage on his young face.

“Look, I don’t know what has you in such a shitty mood,” Sam said, glaring down the older man and actually making him take a step back, only to bump into the counter. Sam, however, continued forward until he was right in front of Gabe. They were about the same height, which was actually kind of sad, given their age distance, but with the anger etched into Sam’s face, Gabe felt about a foot shorter. “But I don’t appreciate you treating me like I’ve done something wrong when I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Gabe didn’t know what to say following that little melt-down, and so he simply stared at the younger boy, trying to will himself to say something goddammit. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Sam.”

“Then why the hell are you acting like such a jerk?” Sam asked, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes suspiciously like he didn’t believe him.

“Because—” _Because I really like you but I can’t do anything about it because you’re only seventeen and I’m twenty-two and God-fucking-dammit, I’m disgusting._ Gabriel sighed, placing his arms on the counter behind him and leaning back against it. “I’m just going through some stuff right now, okay? It has nothing to do with you, Sam.” _Only it really does._

“Oh, okay,” Sam said, deflating and looking embarrassed. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at the ground. “Sorry, I just—”

“You just?” Gabe prompted.

“I want you to like me,” Sam said, looking back up with what Gabe, if he didn’t think it was just him projecting, would have said was wistfulness. But it was gone from the boy’s face before he could process it, so Gabe decided to let it go. Why hold onto something he probably imagined anyway? “The idea of working with someone who thinks I’m just some stupid, annoying kid is pretty awful and I’d rather not go through that, or at least to know if I do annoy you. Just like, be honest with me.”

“I do like you, Sam,” Gabe said, placing a hand on the other boy’s shoulder, which Sam studied with a raised eyebrow. When Gabe started to pull away, feeling awkward now, Sam grabbed his hand and Gabe almost said something stupid, almost, but he had at least enough self-control to not say the words. Gabe tried to save himself by saying with a chuckle and a playful shove at the boy’s shoulder. “You’re a pretty rad kid.” _Rad? Oh god, what am I, a fucking surfer or something now?_

Sam pulled his hand back, a peculiar look coming over his face. Gabe had expected the boy to maybe make fun of his choice of words and move on from the conversation, but that look made him think otherwise.

And he would have asked, really—okay, maybe—, if at that moment the bell above the door didn’t chime, turning their attention away from each other and onto the angry middle-aged woman who had come charging in, dragging along a scowling little boy. Between getting her order ready, a chocolate Thomas the Tank Engine cake and two dozen blue frosted cupcakes, Gabe and Sam barely had time to think let alone bring up the conversation they’d been about to have, and in a way, that was a good thing. The last thing Gabe needed was a reason to keep hoping when there was nothing to be done about their situation.

 

 

In just the first week of staying with the Shurley’s, Dorothy had come to find a good friend in Charlie. The redhead had, on her first day of school, taken her under her wing and brought her to sit with her friends at lunch. They were nice people, she supposed, but the only person who had really made an effort to talk to her was Dean, who Charlie had introduced as her “bestest friend”.

Throughout the lunch period, she and Dean had discussed anything from music to books to food. He mentioned movies and video games, the former of which she only had a limited knowledge of and the latter she was slowly beginning to be educated in thanks to Charlie, but mostly they stuck to subjects that were a common ground. She learned that they shared a fairly similar taste in books, but their music tastes were a bit different—Dean leaning more towards classic rock and Dorothy being really into alternative music.

They got along quite well though despite their differences and Dorothy could tell that Charlie was glad she was getting along with someone in her friend circle. Dorothy was too, admittedly, because she knew that she couldn’t always _just_ depend on Charlie to be there for her, and it was nice knowing that there was potential in this tentative acquaintance between her and Dean.

For a while, Dorothy was actually able to forget the fact that this all was likely temporary, and that within a few months she’d probably be moving on to another place where she wouldn’t have something like this, a friend in the home who was willing to help her out. She’d never had that before coming to Garrison, and it would likely be the first and last time.

“So, Winchester,” Jo, a blonde girl with enough sarcasm and sass to more than instantly intimidate Dorothy, said with a shit-eating smile playing on her lips, drawing Dorothy’s attention away from her thoughts and back to reality, where she was addressing Dean, who was looking at his friend with a look of vague worry. “I heard you and Castiel Novak were paired together for a project in Finch’s class.”

“Uh, yeah, we were,” Dean admitted, his voice slow while he seemed to be trying to figure out what Charlie’s point was. “We have to do a project on American social movements and stuff.” The other boy shrugged like it was nothing, saying, “’s no big deal.”

“Um, no,” Jo said in response, shaking her head and smirking at her friend, “Wrong. It is a very big deal, given the whole ‘pining from afar’ thing you’ve got going for him these days.”

Dean sputtered, his green eyes wide and bewildered, and he choked out a weak, “I’m not pining after him. I’m not even gay!”

Charlie hummed at that, smiling sympathetically at her friend, “Sweetie, I’ve gotta agree with Jo here. You look at that boy all the time.”

“Did you happen to not hear the part where I said I’m _not_ fucking gay?!” Dean asked, stubbornly crossing his arms and glaring at the two girls, who had seemingly ganged up on him. Dorothy almost felt bad, but she had the feeling that Charlie wouldn’t be pushing him if there wasn’t some truth to her words.

“So you’re bisexual then,” Charlie said easily like it was a no-brainer, which to her it might have been, but by the looks of it, the whole thing was mind-boggling to Dean. Charlie, when she noticed her friend’s expression, rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, remember Aaron?”

“Hey, we agreed never to speak of that again, Char,” Dean said, glancing around the table at the others. Charlie and Jo were smirking at him, Ash was paying more attention to the meatball sub in his hands than anything else, Benny was trying to fight a smile back, and Bela was beginning to look more and more impatient as the conversation went on. “Sometimes it’s just a one-time thing and that’s it.”

“Only it wasn’t, Dean,” Bela finally added, looking entirely fed up, “Remember Lisa’s Halloween party last fall? And then the one at Victor’s in the spring? I saw you looking pretty cozy with other guys there, no problem. And don’t try to pull that ‘I had a few beers’ crap either.”

Dean’s eyes roved around the table, taking in everyone’s expressions. Dorothy kept her own carefully blank, not feeling like she really had a right to an opinion on a matter she didn’t fully understand. But Dean’s eyes landed on her anyway, only to turn sharply back to Bela, who he glared at.

“You’re seriously gonna pull this shit in front of Dorothy?” Dean asked angrily, “She probably thinks we’re all crazy now. That isn’t the kind of crap you drop on the first day someone is sitting with us, Bela.”

Bela shrugged, smirking. “She would have figured it out sooner or later, just like the rest of us.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Dean said, throwing up his hands in defeat and standing up, taking his tray with him. “I’m not putting up with this shit today, alright? Not with all the other shit I’ve got going on right now.”

Dean turned and headed for the doors, but not before tossing his trash out and putting the tray on top of the trashcan with a clank. As he was disappearing through the doors, something—someone caught her eye. A boy with dark hair, remarkable blue eyes, and eye and lip piercings was watching too, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. And, interestingly enough, the boy stood up too, saying something to his friends and moving for the door, obviously trying not to look suspicious.

When he left, Dorothy’s eyes turned back to the group, who had obviously just witnessed the same thing, if the huge smirk on Jo’s face was evidence enough. Dorothy had some idea of what happened there, but only a vague one.

“Not gay my ass,” Jo said conclusively with a hint of a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After like a year now I'm finally updating. I would apologize profusely for being a piece of shit and all that, but I figure that if you've read my other fics and became familiar with my updating schedule (i.e. there is none) you'd have already heard the spiel a hundred times, give or take. So I'll spare you my pathetic excuses and just let you read the update I've been holding out on you.
> 
> In this chapter, it goes into a bit more detail about Castiel's financial situation, which isn't very good. But when you have only three incomes, two of which are minimum wage jobs (Gabe and Rachel), and a mother that steals money and spends it on drugs, plus seven people to feed and clothe (not even taking into consideration their mother because fuck her), money is going to be a bit tight. And yes, I know that living in a trailer isn't exactly the ideal situation for eight people, but also take into consideration the fact that while there are only three bedrooms, there is a bunk bed in each room. Also, there's a host of other complicated reasons for why their situation is the way it is, but I promise to address them all in due time.


End file.
